


Give Your Heart A Break: Spring

by MrBarnesIfYaNasty



Series: Give Your Heart A Break verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bucky Barnes Has Cats, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Is a Good Bro, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, M/M, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Self-Harm, Stripper Bucky Barnes, Teacher Steve Rogers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBarnesIfYaNasty/pseuds/MrBarnesIfYaNasty
Summary: Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers haven't seen each other for sixteen years. Cruelly ripped apart as teenagers by Bucky's homophobic father, they lost each other. It's 2017 and, after meeting in very unexpected circumstances, can the two of them get back together? Can friends become lovers when so much has changed and the past threatens to ruin it all?





	Give Your Heart A Break: Spring

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say a massive thank you to the Slack Crew. Without your encouragement and your sprints, this thing never would've happened! I'll always be grateful for your support and it's an honor to know so many talented people! 
> 
> Thanks to ewburnthatshit for the art and a massive thanks to my last minute beta 743ish who rocks! 
> 
> Finally, if it hadn't been for this whole thing, I never would've met you. You know who you are and one of the best things I did this year was sign up for this because now you're in my life. Jtm.

Give Your Heart A Break : Spring

  
  


**March 2017**

 

A strip club.    
  
In retrospect, Steve should've seen it coming. After all, it was only a week until Timothy ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan's wedding and everyone was in agreement that he needed to go out in style. That was how Steve ended up spending his Saturday night as the designated driver for his drunken and over-excited workmates. They were currently crowding through the doors of the notorious Club Hydra. For a group of usually very reserved and professional teachers, they were sure as hell making a lot of noise. The last bar they’d been in had actually asked them to leave, creating a brief argument between Jim Morita, the language teacher, and Jacques Dernier, the science teacher, over who had been making the most noise.   
  
Once they were all safely inside, Steve could take in his surroundings. The club was dark with red spotlights mounted on the ceiling. The walls were painted black and adorned with flashing neon signs which Steve didn't think actually existed outside of 1970s porn movies. There was a runway near the back of the room, and red velvet curtained off areas lined the walls on the left and right. Surrounding the stage were black tables with red leather seats. The whole place smelled like sex and sweat. 

 

Steve felt his heartbeat pounding in time with the music. There was no way he was going to tell Dugan and the others, but this was actually his first time in a strip club. His usual Saturday nights tended to be a little (a lot, actually) more sedate, consisting of a movie at home or hanging with his roommate Sam at their favourite (definitely non-sleazy) bar.

  
“C'mon, we got a table over there!” Dernier grabbed his elbow and hustled him over to a round table situated in a booth. His eyes were shining with excitement. Steve didn’t really know Dernier all that well but tonight he looked a far cry away from the lab-coated man Steve occasionally shared a conversation with in the staff room.

 

As Steve moved to sit down, he noticed that above their table was an was honest-to-god orange neon 'XXX' sign. Steve wondered how the hell people were supposed to find this place sexy. Though the patrons didn’t exactly look like the type who would be picky. Most of them were sleazy-looking older men in business suits who were baying like hungry wolves at the scantily clad dancers.

  
Within seconds they were all seated around the table on red suede booth seats which, if they'd been fully visible under normal lighting, Steve most likely wouldn't have wanted to sit on or touch with a very long pole. A large pitcher of beer was placed in the middle of the table. Gabe and Jim were whispering to each other, although Steve wondered how the hell they could hear each other over the pounding music. When their furtive conversation ended, Gabe leaned toward the middle of the table.

  
“Okay, Dum-Dum, we all clubbed together and got you something a little special to celebrate your last night of being a free man!” He said excitedly. 

  
Steve sipped his beer and shook his head fondly. Of course that's what the twenty dollars had been for. No wonder Gabe was so eager for everyone to chip in when he'd gone round the staff room clutching a big brown envelope and encouraging everyone to donate.   
He wondered how many would’ve donating if they knew the truth.

  
“Hope she's pretty!” Dum-Dum replied, raising his glass to them. “Of course, no-one's prettier than my Peggy!” He added quickly. At this, the others made mock vomiting noises and cries of “nice save, Dum-Dum”.   
  
“Let's find out, we've kept you in suspense long enough!” Jim yelled as he motioned to someone Steve couldn't see.   
  
“Ladies and gentlemen! It's the moment you've been waiting for. Fresh from the gulag and here for your entertainment tonight!” A voice called out over a PA system. “The Winter Soldier!”   
  
The dance music abruptly ended and the opening strains of Def Leppard's 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' started to play in its place. The red curtains at the back of the stage drew back and a young man stood there with his back to the audience.   
  
**Love is like a bomb, baby come and get it on....** **  
**   
The man started to roll his hips to the beat. He looked over his shoulder seductively. His eyes were smeared with eyeliner; warpaint, Steve supposed. He was dressed in a tight pair of black jeans that looked as if they were sprayed on. Around his right thigh was an empty gun holster. A red star was painted (or possibly tattooed, Steve supposed) on his left shoulder. On his feet were heavy-looking combat boots, laces untied and leather tongues hanging out. Completing the look were fingerless leather gloves.   
  
The Winter Soldier gyrated down the runway, moving like liquid. He looked for all the world like he was at home. He was sexy and fully aware of his charms. Steve licked his lips. Why did his mouth suddenly feel so damn dry?

  
“SURPRISE!” Jim and Gabe yelled in unison at Dum-Dum, who glared at them before face-palming when it dawned on him that Club Hydra was actually a gay strip club.   
  
Steve, meanwhile, hadn't taken his eyes off the man. He was at the end of the runway now, running his hands through his long brown hair and dropping to his knees fluidly. On anyone else, this move would’ve looked painful but with this guy, it looked graceful, arousing. Steve could imagine how hot it would look in his bedroom...   
  
**Pour some sugar on me, in the name of love....** **  
**   
He ran his hands over his torso. He wasn't ripped like some of the other dancers and he was a little on the skinny side for Steve's liking but he'd still gotten the crowd convinced he was walking sex. The spotlights made his pale skin shimmer temptingly, and the suited men were hooting and catcalling with each movement   
  
**Pour some sugar on me, c'mon fire me up....**   
  
The Soldier's gloved right hand dipped into his jeans as he nipped at his full lower lip. The crowd were cheering him on all the way. Some were already waving dollar bills in the air, shouting out even more lewd comments. It was actually starting to make Steve feel a little uncomfortable, despite how he was struggling to keep his eyes off the man. With a smile, the Soldier got back to his feet, taking care to let the crowd get a good view of his ass in those tight jeans of his. Steve continued to drink, trying to think about the upcoming parent/teacher conference or course syllabi, anything!    
  
The young man moved silkily closer to their table, swinging those sinful hips. When he reached them, Gabe pointed to Dugan who was shaking his head. Steve saw the man mouth something to Dugan that could've been 'don't be shy'. Dugan glared daggers at Gabe and Jim, who grinned when the man straddled Dugan, coming to rest in his lap. He took off Dugan's bowler hat and put it on his own head. Steve could only see the back of him now, sinewy and sexy as he pulled out his moves for the lap dance.   
  
He hadn't been able to see from the stage, but Steve frowned when he saw a familiar tattoo on the man's left shoulder. A tattoo that he distinctly remembered being bribed into clumsily inking with a needle and his artist's ink. Sixteen long years ago. 

Without thinking, he got up from his seat and put a hand on the man's shoulder.   
“Hey Buddy, no hands,” the man shouted over the music as he turned around. Steve would recognise those eyes anywhere. Even if they were hidden with the heavy black eye makeup.   
  
“Bucky?” he said incredulously.   
  
“Bucky?” The man looked genuinely confused. Still, Bucky always had been a good actor. “Who the hell is Bucky?”   
  
~*~   
  
And just like that, Steve was back in the locker room at school. He could smell the mixture of sweat and rubber-soled sneakers. He was eleven years old again, skinny and awkward, and he was stuck in detention with James Barnes, the new kid who’d appeared in his class a week ago. He hadn’t had that much interaction with the overly-confident kid with the tousled hair and the permanent band-aids on his knobbly knees, but it hadn’t taken him long to realise the kid was a total jerk.    
  
“Asshole.”   
  
“Shithead.”   
  
“Idiot.”   
  
“Fucking annoying dickweed.”

  
Steve shook his head as he mopped the tiled floor of the locker room. James was at the other end of the room trying to herd basketballs into a storage net. Steve had no idea where the other boy had got his mouth from but he was certainly glad the teacher wasn’t around to hear it or else they’d be in even more trouble.

  
“How come I gotta be the one doing the mopping?” Steve complained, swishing the stinking old mop across the brown tile furiously. The tiles weren’t mopped that often it seemed so, consequently, they were filthy.    
  
“Cos I cleaned the showers, you fucking jerk. That was worse.” James shot back. “You think wiping down that asshole Hodge's sweat off those tiles was a treat? Nah, I got the shitty end of that stick.” He added with a derisive snort.    
  
“This is all your fault anyway!” Steve exclaimed angrily as he plunged the mop back into the bucket, taking great joy in imagining that it was Barnes' smug face. “It was your stink bomb.”   
  
“Yeah, but you didn't exactly stop me did you?” Bucky replied with a smirk. Steve frowned and shook his head once more, concentrating on a particularly annoying muddy stain. Since Steve had been the only one without a lab partner, he'd found himself being paired with the new kid. James had seemed friendly at first, but when he'd suggested purposely messing up the experiment to create a particularly foul-smelling solution, Steve quickly realised what a damn idiot the kid was.

  
“Who am I? Your father? I didn't see you tellin' the teacher I had nothin' to do with it!” Steve protested. His Ma was going to kill him when she found out. He’d only had one detention before this and that had been because he punched Hodge after he caught him bullying little Evie Foster in the grade below.    
  
“Well, misery loves company.” James said as he threw the bag of basketballs into the storage closet. “You wanna get a move on with that mopping? I'd like to get out of here some time this century,” he continued as he leant against the closet's door frame.   
  
“I don't see you hurrying to help me out here.” Steve answered, motioning to the floor, which he was only halfway through. “Why don't you stop being such a jerk and grab an extra mop? Then we'd be able to get outta here a lot quicker, and I wouldn't have to look at your smug fucking face any more.”   
  
“Hey don't forget, Roberts, we're still lab partners.”   
  
“It's Rogers, you asshole,” Steve spat back, trying some language of his own. He dipped the mop into the bucket again and, as it swished around in the quickly greying water, he suddenly got an idea. He looked up at James and grinned. Quick as a wink, he'd pulled the mop from the bucket and flicked the tendrils in James' direction, causing a grimy spray of water to hit him full in the face.

  
“Oh this is fucking war.” James said, quickly looking around for a viable weapon. He settled for the nearest thing within his reach, a storage box full of bean bags.   
  
Ten minutes later, multi-coloured bean bags were flying across the length of the locker room. James would hurl them in Steve's direction and Steve would hurl them right back. They were level-pegging for a while when it came to hitting their intended targets, and they started to laugh as they dodged and ducked each other's shots.

  
“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS! JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES! What is the meaning of this?”   
  
The bean-bag war abruptly stopped at the sound of Mr Jones' angry voice. Steve and James dropped their bean-bags and turned to face the gym teacher who was standing in the locker room doorway, arms clamped across his huge chest.   
“I'm coming back in ten minutes and this mess better be cleaned up!” he thundered, motioning to the various bean-bags that were scattered around the room. Without another word, he turned on his heel. 

Steve grinned and found that James was grinning back at him.

  
“So...” Steve ventured as he started to pick up the bean-bags that were nearest to him. “Your middle name is Buchanan?”   
  
“Just call me Bucky.” James shrugged, throwing a couple of bean-bags back into their box. “S'what my friends call me.”   
  
“We're friends now?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “That's a bit presumptuous.”   
  
“Of course we're friends. Punk.” Bucky rolled his eyes.   
  
“Jerk.” Steve fired back with a smile.   
  
“Douche.”   
  
“Butt-munch.”   
  
~*~   
  
Just as Bucky had expected, Steve was waiting for him when he came out of the club. If there was one thing he didn't need tonight, it was Steve Fucking Rogers coming back into his life out of the blue after sixteen years and discovering that he was working at a strip club. But these seemed to have been the shitty dog-eared cards he'd been dealt, and he was going to have to handle it.   
  
Steve was leaning against the lamp post and frowning like he was trying to comprehend something impossible. Despite the fact that he wanted to be anywhere else but here right now, Bucky had to admit that Steve looked fucking good. Puberty had been incredibly kind to him, and he was obviously a frequent visitor at his local gym. He was taller, wider, and well built. His blonde hair was neatly slicked to the side and he'd grown an impressive looking beard. He was wearing a sweater that emphasised his muscular chest and biceps, and his indigo jeans hugged his thighs. Steve definitely did not skip leg day. 

 

Bucky shook any lewd thoughts out of his head and moved towards his former best friend. He hadn't thought about Steve for a long time, but any reunion he'd imagined definitely hadn't taken place at three a.m. outside a seedy strip club.   
  
Steve looked up when Bucky approached him, and his expression was one of hurt. What the fuck? Where did Steve get off looking at him like that? Like some scorned housewife? Especially after all this time when they’d not even spoken one word to each other.

  
“So, this wasn't the reunion that I've thought about,” Steve said levelly.   
  
“Not exactly my idea of one either,” Bucky countered defensively. He jammed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and kicked at a nearby soda can. It bounced across the pavement and rolled away into the darkness.

  
“A stripper, Buck. I can't believe it.” Steve was shaking his head. “I mean, why?”   
  
“Straight into it, huh? No nice to see you or how are you doing? No it's nice to see you after all these years? You're acting like I club baby seals to death for a living,” Bucky replied. He didn't know why, but Steve's attitude was beginning to get his back up. “It's just stripping, Steve. This is 2017. Plenty of people do it, so you can stop clutching your god-damn pearls already and being so damn self-righteous. Jesus this is just like the smoking thing all over again!”    
  
“I just didn't expect you to be doing it. I'm concerned, Buck,” Steve admitted. “That's not -” He shook his head and didn't finish his sentence. For some reason, that annoyed Bucky even more. He really wasn’t in the mood for the self-righteous assholishness of Steve Rogers. He started to walk down the street, getting more irritated when Steve started to follow him.    
  
“It's not like I'm a prostitute. And anyway, even if I was, what fuckin' business is it of yours what I do for a living? At what point is it ok for you to just swan back into my life after sixteen fuckin' years and start being a judgemental ass about what I do to make money?” Bucky was marching now more than walking. Perhaps if he moved quickly enough he could march straight out of whatever this nightmare was, because surely none of this could really be happening. Steve couldn't be right here, suddenly back in his life, and they couldn't be arguing, winding each other up like they were school kids again.   
  
“I don't like to think of you ending up this way,” came Steve's reply from behind, as he tried to keep in step with him. Bucky felt a shiver run through his body and drew his leather jacket tighter around him. Steve sounded so damn sad, and Bucky suddenly felt like he was being pitied.

  
“I'm not 'ending up' anywhere, for your fuckin' information. I happen to like what I do, and it was my choice to do it.” 

 

Now that was an out and out lie, but there wasn't any reason for Steve to know that. The guy was being uppity and judgemental enough without having to know the whole reason he wound up stripping in a place like Club Hydra. “And stop giving me that look, like I'm some poor fuckin' soul who needs help.”   
  
“What happened to your music, Buck? You were so good. Remember how you'd play me your songs in my room when I was sick?” Steve was saying pleadingly. “You've got a talent and you should be using it.”   
  
“There's no money in music. It's a stupid dream.” Bucky's mouth seemed to have a life of his own. These weren't his words that were speaking now. They were, however, painfully familiar. He sounded like his father. Like Brock. “I make a decent amount of money out of this. I can afford to keep a roof over my head.” Was he even arguing with Steve any more? Or was he doing it with himself? How many times had he told himself the same justification?   
  
“Buck. Stop.” Steve put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. Bucky let out a low growl of frustration. He was cold and he was tired and he was fucking hungry. All he wanted to do was go home and crash. He didn't need Steve breathing down his neck like this. “Can't we talk about this?”   
  
“What's there to talk about Steve? Huh?” Bucky demanded. He fumbled in the pocket of his leather jacket for his cigarettes. If Steve was determined to have this out in the street in the middle of the night, at least he could try smoking to keep him warm. “You don't like the fact I'm a stripper. I'm telling you I do. You think I'm gonna stop just because you don't like it? That I'm gonna turn my back on something that allows me to live because of your stupid good boy morals? We haven't seen each other for sixteen years, Steve. We don't even know each other any more. You can't just steam into my life playing the concerned friend. This isn't a fuckin' Lifetime movie.”   
  
“I'm not playing concerned, Buck. I  _ am _ concerned. You're so much better than those guys who were gawking at you. I saw the way they were looking at you! Like a piece of meat, for God's sake. You deserve to be treated like a person, not some dirty sex object!” Steve looked upset now, but Bucky buried whatever guilt he felt under his anger.   
  
“You're acting like I'm worth something.” Bucky laughed humorlessly as he lit up a cigarette. “I can get by on my own, Steve, and I sure as shit can walk home on my own. So, if you're done with your judgemental shitfest then can you kindly fuck off so I can get home and stop freezing my fuckin' balls off?”   
  
“I'm not being judgemental -” Steve argued.   
  
“Yes. Yes you fucking are, Steve. Like I said before, you're being a sanctimonious judgemental asshole. I mean, it's great to see you again, of course it is, but this isn't the way I wanted this to go down. He stopped and sighed. “Look, I'm done talking about this, so why don't you just go home. Call me in the morning or something.” 

 

He reached out and grabbed hold of Steve's hand. He pulled a pen out from his pocket and quickly scribbled down his number and address. 

 

“There. We can catch up later, but right now I'm tired and I need some fuckin' sleep.” 

 

Without another word or even another glance in Steve's direction, Bucky turned on his heel and stormed off toward home. He heard Steve calling to him, but he was damned if he was going to turn around and answer.   
  
~*~   
  
Half an hour later, Steve had calmed down. In fact, he pretty much felt like if he could bend that way, he would give himself a swift kick up the ass for the way he'd acted with Bucky. It was their first meeting and he'd behaved like a total jerk, coming on too strong and allowing his shock to override anything else. 

 

He still stood by his belief that Bucky could do a lot better than stripping, but he knew he could've handled it a lot better if he'd let his head do the talking instead of his heart. It had been strange and overwhelming to see Bucky again after so long, and Club Hydra had been the last place he'd ever expected to see him.   
  
He'd thought about Bucky Barnes so much over the last sixteen years. Only one other person knew how much he still held a candle for his former best friend, and that was Sam. He'd drunkenly confessed his feelings one night after keeping them to himself for so long. 

 

If he was being honest, he rarely went a day without someone or something reminding him of Bucky. It could be as simple as a sound, a smell, a taste. Anything. Only yesterday he'd gone for his usual morning run in Fulton Park, and he'd seen someone in a t-shirt that was exactly the colour of Bucky's eyes. He'd spent the rest of his run thinking about the kiss they'd shared back when they were fifteen.   
  
There had been others, of course there had. But nobody ever seemed to be able to match up in his mind, and his dates had fizzled out before they really started. Not even Sharon Carter, the English teacher he found himself with a sudden crush on, had worked out. They'd kissed at the work Christmas party and had taken it from there. She was beautiful, incredibly intelligent, and they shared so much in common. Their dates had been fun but, for Steve, the spark hadn't been there, and he'd been able to let her down gently. Everything always came back down to Bucky.   
  
One part of Bucky's angry speech had bothered him: the part where he'd said he wasn't worth anything. That seemed like such an un-Bucky thing to say. Growing up, Bucky had been the confident one. The one who knew his place and knew his worth, and would argue with anyone who challenged it or dared to tell him different. He'd been loud and charming and full of life. As relieved as Steve was to suddenly have Bucky back in his life, this new, unrecognisable Bucky was beginning to worry him. A lot. 

 

He even looked a lot different. Steve knew that was to be expected after so long, but there was something about his whole being, his stance, his eyes, his much thinner face that seemed drawn and pale - it wasn't Bucky. The Bucky he knew would've never been a stripper, and Steve was desperate to know whether it was out of desire like Bucky had claimed, or need.   
  
Deciding that there was no way in hell he was ever going to sleep feeling like this, he decided to head to Bucky's apartment to apologise. Maybe if they could sit down and talk about it without anyone getting defensive - or being a judgemental idiot - then they could get it straightened out. He knew Bucky had said he wanted to sleep, but Steve was willing to bet that he was struggling too. Bucky could never sleep when he was fired up. 

 

They needed another chance at this reunion thing. Steve needed to make it up to him. He needed to try again.   
  
Following the address that Bucky had scribbled on the back of his hand, he got to Bucky's building and then to the right floor. He knew the building well and it didn't have the best reputation for being safe or particularly well maintained. He knocked on the chipped door. The apartment number had fallen off and left a ghost imprint on the wood. He received no reply. He hoped that Bucky hadn't gone to bed already. He was beginning to feel stupid. These weren't exactly the actions of a rational man. More like a creepy stalker.

  
“Buck? Bucky? It's me!”   
  
“And you are?” A voice came from behind him. Steve turned around to be greeted by the sight of a guy with messy blonde hair sticking up in all directions. He was dressed in purple hospital scrubs and was wrestling with a brown paper grocery bag.

  
“Oh.” Steve backed away from the door. 

 

It hadn't occurred to him that Bucky might be with someone while Steve was still pining like a lovelorn teenager. “Steve.” he answered, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. Way to go, Rogers.   
  
“Steve Rogers? I've heard about you. I'm Clint, by the way. I live upstairs.” He shifted the grocery bag to his hip. “Also, I'd keep it down if I were you. Bucky's next door neighbour is like 900, and she's one hell of a grumpy old ba- oh hey Mrs Anthony!”

  
Steve glanced at the door next to Bucky's. An old woman's head was poking out of it. Her hair was being contained by curlers and a hair net, and Steve could make out the collar of a pink quilted robe wrapped around her. She looked pissed.

  
“You young people making noise at all hours. I oughta tell the building manager.” She looked Steve up and down for a moment. “Who the hell are you? You don't look like that asshole James used to date.”   
  
“This is Bucky's friend, Mrs Anthony, and he was just leaving,” Clint explained, all fake smiles and warmth. He looked pointedly at Steve. For a woman who, from the neck up at least, looked frail, Clint seemed to be almost scared of her.   
  
“Good. Don't need to be woken up when I have my errands tomorrow.” Mrs Anthony harrumphed. She seemed to withdraw into her apartment for a moment but, just as she was about to close the door, she popped her head out again. “You treat that boy right y'hear? You might be built like a brick shithouse but I still know how to deal with fellas like you!” she hissed, and finally closed the door.   
  
“Isn't she charming?” Clint said sarcastically in a low voice. “The vocabulary of an angel. Still, if I'm half as tough as she is at her age, I'll die a happy man. So, Steve, since it's obvious Bucky isn't answering, why don't you try again at a less insane time? People tend not to answer the door to crazy people harassing them in the early hours of the morning and all.” Clint sounded friendly enough but underneath, there was something guarded about his tone.   
  
“What did she mean about the asshole Bucky used to date?” Steve asked. He certainly hadn't expected this visit bringing up more questions than answers. He was feeling distinctly confused.

  
“Hey man, no offence, but it's like nearly 4am and I just got off a hell of a shift, and I'm not really in the mood for discussing Bucky's dating history with some random guy I just met like five minutes ago. I really think you should do this again tomorrow. Let the guy sleep, and everyone else, for that matter. And while you're at it, get some yourself. If you really want to help a bro out you can hit the button for the elevator so I don't have to assault it with my elbow.”

  
Steve nodded and pressed the elevator button. Clint nodded his thanks as the elevator doors closed.   
  
So who was this asshole ex-boyfriend?   
  
~*~   
  
Bucky lay on his couch, staring up at the naked bulb hanging from his ceiling. He hadn't bothered to turn the lights on when he'd gotten home. He'd tossed aside his jacket and flopped down on the couch. His black cat, Zima, had demanded attention, leaping up into the couch beside him and finally settling down on his stomach, curling up neatly. It had been fifteen minutes since he'd heard Steve's pleas for him to open the door and Mrs Andrew's admonishing tone, so there was a good chance Steve had left by now.   
  
It wasn't that he wanted to avoid Steve. The opposite was actually true. He'd longed to open his door and let Steve in, but something had stopped him. For one, he didn't really want Steve to see his apartment, but even more than that, he didn't want Steve judging him any more than he clearly already had. Did he really want to bring Steve Rogers, his former best friend, into the shitshow that was currently his life? Steve seemed much too pure for that. Much too good to be tainted. Steve didn't deserve it.    
  
Bucky reached for his left shoulder, stroking over the black ink that resided there. That, he realised, was probably how Steve had worked out who he was while he was giving that guy a lap dance. There would be no mistaking that tattoo. After all, he'd convinced Steve to do it all those years ago.   
  


**  
** **SIXTEEN YEARS AGO....**   
  
“Aw, c'mon Stevie. I read all about it! It'll be easy!” Bucky pleaded as he spun around on his desk chair. Steve was sitting cross-legged on Bucky's bed, sketching and trying to ignore his pleas. His latest piece for Art class wasn’t working at all so he’d headed to Bucky’s place hoping for some inspiration. Unfortunately all he got was hassled.    
  
“Buck, I'm not gonna tattoo you,” he replied, shaking his head and continuing to focus on his linework. 

 

Bucky could tell that Steve thought it was a crazy idea, but it wasn't something he'd decided to do on the spur of the moment. He'd done his research, and it was definitely something he wanted. He just needed to convince his best friend.    
  
“I'd do it myself, but you know I can't draw for shit and anyway, I can't reach the back of my shoulder. C'mon, Stevie, be a pal.” Bucky stopped spinning and pulled out his best puppy dog eyes. The ones that always worked when it came to Steve. His best friend would always try to act like he was impervious, but it never worked.

  
“What do I have to do?” Steve asked with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. Bucky grinned widely as Steve put down his sketchbook and pencil.    
  
“Yes!” Bucky pumped his fist in the air triumphantly. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pencil. A needle sat on the end of it with some string wrapped around it to hold it in place. He'd made it in advance, knowing that he'd manage to get Steve to eventually agree. “You got ink, right?”

  
Steve nodded. He reached down to his backpack from where he'd dumped it on the floor and pulled a pot of artist's ink out of the front pocket. Bucky had often joked that Steve’s backpack was more like a mini art supply store than a school bag.

  
“Awesome! So all you gotta do is draw a design on my shoulder first then treat this needle like a pen. Hold it at an angle and poke the design into my skin.” Bucky explained with excitement. He mimed the movement in the air. Steve still didn’t look wholly convinced.    
  
“How do I know if I'm going too deep?” Steve asked nervously. “It doesn’t seem very hygienic…” Bucky recognised the look on his face. There was no denying that Steve was the son of a nurse.    
  
“Check out this video.” Bucky brought his laptop to life and clicked on the link to the video he'd saved in his favourites. He leapt off his desk chair and offered it to Steve.   
  
Once Steve was sitting down and studying the terrible quality video tutorial on stick and poke tattoos, Bucky dived onto his bed and started rifling through Steve's sketchbook, looking for the picture he wanted.

  
“Aw man, don't say it was in your other one,” he said, more to himself, as he flicked through the pages. Steve's sketchbooks were hard to keep track of. He tended to go through one a month. Sometimes, if he got the chance, Bucky would do some terrible doodle on the covers so he could differentiate between them. Last month's had been an alien that Steve had claimed looked more like an amorphous blob. Still, what did Steve know about sci fi? 

 

Finally, towards the middle of the sketchbook, he found the image he'd been looking for.   
  
It was a circular shield design with a star in the middle of it. The picture had come about on one of their sleepovers when they'd found some dumb website link about finding out your superhero name. Their results had been pretty dumb, and Steve had been outraged to discover his to be 'Nomad'. After spluttering something about it not sounding anything like a superhero, Bucky had suddenly dubbed him 'Captain America'. After all, you couldn't get much better than a captain, and Steve was fiercely patriotic, and it definitely sounded better than 'Nomad'. Steve had liked the idea, and they'd spent ages coming up with ideas for what Captain America would look like in his costume. Part of it was the circular shield. Bucky liked the idea of having it as a tattoo, something permanent of Steve's on his body.

  
“This!” He triumphantly held up the sketchbook as soon as Steve had finished watching the video.

  
“The Captain America shield?” Steve replied with a raised eyebrow.   
  
“Yeah! It'll look bad-ass, and it's your design!” Bucky grinned as Steve blushed a little. “So, what do ya say?”   
  


  
**PRESENT DAY...**   
  
Bucky rolled over, dislodging Zima, who yowled in protest before leaping off the couch in search of food. Bucky drew his knees to his chest and pressed his face into the worn blue cushions. Why did Steve have to come back into his life now?   
  
~*~   
  
“Good morning Starshine!” Sam sing-songed as Steve padded into their shared kitchen, scratching his head and blinking his bleary eyes in his Spongebob pyjama pants. Since he'd gotten back from Bucky's apartment he hadn't done much beside stare at his own ceiling and brood about how much of an asshole he was, which wasn't at all conducive to a good night's sleep.

  
“Coffee?” Steve asked. Sam nodded to the pot and continued pouring himself a liberal amount of Lucky Charms. Steve grabbed a mug of coffee and sat down at their small kitchen table, rubbing his eyes and trying his best to piece together the previous night.   
  


“So how was the big bachelor party last night? Must've been a good one. Didn't hear you come in til like four thirty.” Sam said as he sat down opposite and attacked his bowl of cereal. “Thanks for waking me up, by the way,” he added through a mouthful.

  
“You know, there seem to be fewer marshmallows in that cereal these days,” Steve replied, nodding at the bowl that seemed a little light on the usual brightly coloured lumps of sugar.   
  
“It's cos Tic Tac picks 'em out and doesn't think I notice.” Sam rolled his eyes. 'Tic Tac' was his name for Scott Lang, his newly appointed apprentice at the tattoo studio he owned. He was a good guy who'd had some previous trouble with the law, so Sam had decided to give him a shot. From the amount of times Scott slept on their couch, marathoning Miami Ink and eating their food, he seemed to be working out well. “So, deflecting huh? What'd you do? Make out with one of your colleagues? Steal a traffic cone? Take a piss somewhere public?”   
  
“I met Bucky.” Steve said quietly, running his thumb over the Pac-Man design on his coffee mug. He heard Sam make a choking noise, which was pretty much the reaction he'd been expecting. He didn't even want to think about the amount of times he'd talked about Bucky over their years of friendship.   
  
“Well, shit,” Sam replied, after chugging some of his coffee to clear his throat. “How'd that even happen? Was he in a bar or something?”   
  
“We went to this strip club. Dernier's idea. Bucky was working there,” Steve explained. He sighed deeply. Talking about it just brought back how terribly he'd handled the situation. “He was one of the strippers.”   
  
“Wow.” Sam had abandoned his cereal at this point and was staring at Steve with a searching expression. When Steve didn't reply, Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don't tell me you came on all heavy with him.”   
  
“I...could've handled it better.” Steve admitted, feeling an ashamed blush creep across his cheeks. “I may have been a little judgemental about it. I didn't mean to! It just sorta...happened.” He took a sip of his coffee and shuddered at the taste. Sam always did make it too strong.   
  
“So how did you leave it?” Sam asked, elbows on the table, listening attentively. Despite his roommate's propensity for leaving empty milk cartons in the fridge and takeout containers on the coffee table, Steve had to admit Sam was a damn good listener. He had been ever since they'd met in college when they were eighteen.

  
“He told me to call him. I gotta make it up to him. Make him realise I'm not a total jerk,” Steve answered. “I was thinking of treating him to lunch, at that place that makes the really good subs? And grovelling as much as possible for being an idiot?”   
  
“Sounds like a plan.” Sam got up, grabbed his cereal bowl and dumped the contents in the garbage before depositing the bowl in the sink. “Make sure you swing by the studio at some point this afternoon, I need you to finish that mural.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder as he walked past on his way to the bathroom. “Oh, and you can make up for waking me at four thirty this morning by bringing a turkey and mustard on rye and some chocolate chip cookies.” 

 

Steve heard the bathroom door close and then immediately open again. 

 

“And if you turn up with pickles again, you're dead to me!” came the addition, before the door was closed once more and the shower started up.   
  
~*~   
  
Bucky walked through the club which, in his opinion, always looked a hell of a lot sleazier in the cold light of day. There were usually empty glasses on every table, crumpled flyers on the floor and the lingering smell of spilled beer and the tang of sweat which itched at his nostrils unpleasantly. He usually avoided this place like the plague during the daytime, venturing inside only to pick up his paycheck or meet with Pierce.   
  
The latter was the reason behind this particular visit. After an uncomfortable night on his couch with very little sleep, he'd woken up to a text message from Pierce demanding his presence for a meeting. Bucky had been half-tempted to ignore it and claim he hadn't heard his phone, but he'd learnt from experience that when Alexander Pierce clicks his fingers and summons you, you jump. He ignored a couple of his co-workers who were tackling the clean up job, and made a beeline for Pierce's office on the third floor. He knocked on the door and heard the usual “Enter” before he pushed it open and stepped into the room.   
  
Pierce's office was all red and leather but, unlike the club's cheap knock offs, his furniture was Italian leather, hand-stitched by some 90 year old Italian guy with a name Bucky couldn't pronounce. The red carpet beneath his feet was thick and plush, not threadbare and stained with god knows what. Pierce himself was sitting behind his large oak desk, which was polished to perfection by one of the cleaners. He leant back in his high-backed leather chair and smiled at Bucky. As usual, he was dressed in a slick navy suit and crisp white shirt, which was open at the collar to show off the thick gold chain around his neck. More gold jewellery littered his fingers and wrists. Bucky often wondered if he was aware of how much of a cliché he looked. Not that he'd ever dare ask. Pierce was a powerful man.

  
“James. Excellent to see you as always.” Pierce greeted. He immediately reached for the cut glass brandy decanter on his desk and, without asking, poured two measures into matching tumblers, his many rings flashing in the overhead lights. Bucky sat down on the chair opposite Pierce's desk and took the proffered tumbler. He downed it in one shot, and Pierce's smile widened. “I'm very pleased with you, James,” He continued. “The Winter Soldier has been a huge success, just as we expected.”   
  
Bucky stayed quiet. The Winter Soldier hadn't been a collaborative effort at all. In fact, he'd downright hated it but, of course, you don't argue with Pierce. He'd seen work-mates learn that the hard way.   
“But I think we need to step it up a little,” Pierce explained, taking a sip from his glass. He leant further back in his chair and tented his fingers pensively. “I think the act needs more edge. You'll need to see T'Challa downstairs to get measured up for your new outfit.” 

 

He cast an eye over Bucky's body. Bucky resisted the urge to flinch under the laser-like gaze. It felt as though he may as well be naked. Pierce always looked like he was ogling his dancers. He’d heard some pretty nasty rumours about after hours ‘work’ but he’d chosen to ignore them. Dancers could be pretty bitchy at times. 

 

“Meanwhile,” Pierce leaned to his left and opened up a drawer. “You can take a look at the mock-up.” 

 

He slid a piece of A4 paper across the desk and Bucky picked it up with trembling fingers. In any other situation, it would've been considered a masterpiece. T'Challa certainly had a talent with a pencil. However, as it was, Bucky felt sick. Gone were the tight jeans, replaced by horribly short black booty shorts made of leather. A harness had been added that would be strapped across his chest and the final new addition, a black mask that covered his nose and mouth.   
  
“I think that will strike the right note.” Pierce said in a self satisfied smirk. “A muzzle will make you edgier, more dangerous. The crowds will eat it up and when they eat it up, they’ll pay up.”   
  
Bucky put the piece of paper back on the desk. He wanted to get up and walk right out, tell Pierce exactly where he could stick his new outfit and where he could stick his job. He resisted, for the simple fact that he knew he'd struggle to find work somewhere else. Pierce had always made that abundantly clear to anyone else who'd had the audacity to quit.

  
“If you go downstairs now, we should be ready for your relaunch within a couple of days. This is a very exciting time, James. And I think, with your help, I'm really going to put Club Hydra on the map.” Pierce offered him another smile and started to tap away on his sleek looking laptop. This, as always, was Bucky's cue to leave.   
  
On shaky legs, Bucky went downstairs to the second floor where the dressing rooms and T'Challa's little office was located. 

 

There was no knocking when it came to T'Challa. No imposing and impeccably decorated office. In complete contrast to upstairs, T'Challa's workspace was always a chaotic mess, filled with various fabrics and parts of costumes. Sitting down on one of his high, rickety stools always carried the potential to cause some kind of avalanche of glitter, boas and feathers. One wall was dedicated to his in-progress drawings, some hastily scribbled on the spur of the moment, and some that had obviously taken a few hours, beautiful elegant lines and contrasting colours. One wall had rows and rows of polaroids of the finished products, modelled by the various dancers and strippers who worked at the club. The third wall was dedicated to his large array of motivational cat posters.

  
“Buckybear!” T'Challa exclaimed as Bucky walked through the open door. Bucky rolled his eyes and grinned. He'd lost count of the amount of times he'd told T'Challa it would've been easier to call him 'Bucky' but the older man wouldn't have it. He always insisted on calling Bucky 'Buckybear’' whenever he saw him which, T'Challa had told him, meant he was cute and cuddly. “You’ve seen the new costume?”    
  
“Yeah,” Bucky replied, daring to sit on one of the nearby stools. Luckily he only caused a minor disturbance to some skeins of cotton that had been precariously balanced behind it.   
  
“Hmm,” T'Challa said, which was about as close as he got to disagreeing or voicing any concern over Pierce's choices for his staff. “Well, I suppose I should start with your measurements. Mr. Pierce is insistent that your new attire be as close-fitting as possible.” He scrabbled in one of his desk drawers and pulled out his tape measure. “Come on, Buckybear, I promise it will not take long.”   
  
~*~   
  
Twenty minutes later, Bucky was done, and he left T'Challa to start the preparations. As he walked down the stairs back to the main floor, his phone trilled. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw his screen lit up with Steve's name and the offer of lunch at a local sandwich place. He started to text back an automatic no but stopped before he pressed send. He actually wanted to see Steve again. Sure, he'd acted like a jerk, but seeing him had stirred up a lot of feelings that Bucky had thought were long buried. Something inside of him screamed that he was making a mistake but, despite his misgivings, he texted back 'Yeah sure, see you in ten,' and hoped that he hadn't just done something he'd end up regretting.   
  
~*~   
  
Steve picked another piece of fluff off his maroon sweater. He checked his reflection in a nearby window to check that his hair was still in place. He knew he was fussing like an old woman, but he couldn't help it. He was determined not to mess up this second meeting. It was also hard to keep a lid on his excitement. He'd been thinking of this day for years and what it could mean, what it could potentially lead to. It would take all of his self control not to just reach across the table and give Bucky a kiss.   
  
A couple of minutes later, Bucky himself rounded the corner, looking frankly amazing in black skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and an expensive looking leather jacket. His hair was tied back into a low bun and as soon as he saw Steve he smiled warmly. Steve let out a mental sigh of relief. Smiling was good. Smiling meant he hadn't totally fucked it up.

  
“Wow Bucky, you look-” Steve cut himself off, hoping that he wasn't blushing. “Well, you look good.”   
  
“Smooth, Steve, real smooth.” Bucky replied cheekily.   
  
“Look, I'm sorry for being a jerk.” Steve gabbled, desperate to move away from that terrible attempt at flirtation. He was painfully out of practice. “The stuff I said, it wasn't right, I was an idiot and-”   
  
“I thought you said lunch, not apologies?” Bucky cut in, nodding toward the sandwich place. He smiled again. “Last night's forgotten ok? It was late and it must've been a pretty big shock, so let's just move on and start talking about why you have a beard.”   
  
Steve laughed, instantly feeling relieved. He led the way into the sandwich place and Steve joined the queue of people waiting to be served. Bucky started to make his way toward one of the tables at the back.

  
“What do you want?” Steve asked, pointing to the menu above them.   
  
“Coffee's good.” Bucky replied, waving his hand dismissively. “I had a pretty big breakfast,” he added, smiling charmingly.    
  
Ten minutes later, Steve sat down at the table Bucky had chosen, with a tray loaded with two coffees and his sub. He made a mental note to grab Sam's requested lunch on the way out. He passed Bucky his coffee and popped the lid off his own.

  
“So, beard, huh?” Bucky questioned as he stirred his own coffee. He shook his head when Steve slid a little cup of milk across the table.   
  
“You don't like it?” Steve asked. He unwrapped his sub and added some extra mayo.   
  
“I like it fine.” Bucky replied with a smirk. “Makes you look like a teacher or something,” he added, licking his bottom lip in a move that went straight to Steve's crotch.   
  
“Well actually, I am a teacher.” Steve said, unable to take his eyes off Bucky's face. It was still a lot slimmer than he'd remembered, but Bucky's blue-grey eyes were still alive with the spark he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Then there was that plump bottom lip, the one that was practically begging to be bitten and the captivating way it would quirk upwards in that lopsided smile.    
“No fuckin' way!” Bucky exclaimed. “Wow, Steve Rogers, teacher.” He nodded, making an impressed face. “Art, right?”   
  
“Kindergarten, so everything really.” Steve answered. “I did some volunteer work at a children's hospital during college, teaching the kids painting, and I found I loved it, so I switched my major.” It was on the tip of his tongue to automatically ask Bucky what he did before he remembered that he should, at least for now, stay away from that potential minefield. No need to create needless conflict, especially since Bucky had insisted they forget it and move on. “So when did you come back to Brooklyn?”   
  
“Oh, about four years ago now.” Bucky replied, dropping his eyes to focus on his coffee. “Stayed in Chicago for a while after Dad moved us there, went to college for a bit. Missed Brooklyn, though.”

  
Steve nodded. He couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt that Bucky had been back in the state for four years and not attempted to contact him. Still, he supposed, there was no way Bucky would know that he was still living in Brooklyn.

  
“You're wondering why I didn't bother to get in contact, right?” Bucky asked. 

 

Steve wanted to laugh. It seemed that all the years apart had done nothing to dull Bucky's ability to know exactly what he was thinking. 

 

“I don't really have an excuse,” Bucky continued with a shrug. “I guess I didn't want to hurt you. I wasn't sure if you'd even want to see me again, after the way things were left.”   
  
“You could never hurt me, Buck,” Steve replied, the old nickname tumbling out without him really thinking about it. “Anyway, you're here now,” he added, wanting to move the conversation away from that particularly painful subject. “Let’s concentrate on that.”

 

Steve wanted to slide his hand across the table, but picked up his sub instead and took a bite. He didn't want to come on too strongly. Although it seemed like they were slipping back into their old banter easily enough, there was no guarantee that Bucky would still feel the same romantic feelings that were starting to blossom before they were cruelly parted from each other.

  
“Um, Steve?” Bucky was grinning. He tapped the cleft of his chin. “You uh, you got a little somethin'.”   
  
Steve wiped at his chin, realising he had a glob of mayo in his beard. He smiled shyly and wiped his hand on his napkin.

“Perils of beard life,” he said. He nodded to his sub. “You sure you don't want half? The subs here are amazing.”   
  
“Go on then,” Bucky replied. He reached forward and took half of the sub, biting into it hungrily. “So,” he continued, mouth full, in a move that was so Bucky it made Steve's heart melt a little. “Any significant others?” 

 

He asked it casually enough, but Steve couldn't help but feel like there had been something hopeful in the question too. Then again, maybe he was just projecting.   
  


“Not at the moment no. You?”   
  
“Yeah, actually.” Bucky replied, taking another bite of the sub. “I got married last year.” He continued after swallowing.   
  
Steve couldn't help but let his mouth drop open. His sub suddenly started churning around in his stomach and he felt like somebody had just sat on his chest. He'd been stupid to expect that someone wouldn't have snapped Bucky up by now. He hoped that he didn't look too upset. Bucky's grin widened and suddenly the penny dropped.

  
“You're still a sucker I see.” Bucky teased.   
  
“And you're still an asshole,” Steve instantly shot back, echoing Bucky's tone. “I can't believe I fell for that!” he added as Bucky chuckled. “You're such a jerk, Barnes.”   
  
“And you're a punk, Rogers.” Bucky actually stuck his tongue out before finishing the last part of his half of the sub. He looked at his phone. “Hey, I gotta get going.”   
  
“Oh.” Steve couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice. “Well, I had a really good time -” he started.   
  
“Oh my God, Steve, you're such a dork.” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes. “Tomorrow night, take me out somewhere. Text me when you decide,” he continued as he stood up and chugged the rest of his coffee.

  
“Y-you mean like a date?”   
  
“Yes, Steve. Like a date.” Bucky bent down and quickly kissed him on the cheek. “Text me, okay?” he added before walking away, leaving Steve with a massive grin on his face, his cheeks bright pink.    
  
~*~   
  
Steve let himself into his apartment, stupid grin firmly in place and feeling more excited than he had done in years. Catching up with Bucky had been amazing and, even better, Bucky had actually kissed him! He felt like his cheek was glowing from the contact, and the fifteen-year-old inside him never wanted to wash that cheek again.   
  
He'd spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through Fulton Park in a kind of happy daze, allowing himself to daydream like he never had before. He was trying not to let his mind wander too far, but he hadn't been able to help imagining what the future might be like now there was nothing standing in his and Bucky's way. Would there be kids in their future? Marriage? Could he give Bucky the confidence to take up his music again? It was a thrilling thought.   
  
He'd been in such a content stupor that he'd gone back on his promise to show up at Sam's studio, and had totally forgotten about the turkey sub, but surely having a date with the guy of his dreams was a good enough excuse, right?   
  
He could hear the low hum of the TV as he made his way into the cluttered yet tidy living room. Scott was stretched out on the sofa, completely asleep, his mouth hanging open. Sam was sitting opposite him, a beer in his hand and a half empty bowl of popcorn resting on his lap.

  
“Well, if it ain't the flake,” Sam said as soon as he entered the living room. Steve could tell from his tone and the accompanying eye roll that he wasn't actually angry.   
  
“Keeping busy, I see,” Steve commented with a smile as Sam aimed a popcorn kernel directly for Scott's open mouth. “Don't tell me you guys marathoned Miami Ink again. That would be like, what? The third time?”   
  
“Nah. LA Ink, actually.” Sam corrected. “Tic Tac here had a big day today. Tackled his first ever tattoo on a client. Didn't do too badly, either.” Sam paused from his popcorn to look up at Steve. “I assume you cut out on me because of a certain old flame?”   
  
“Yeah,” Steve said, fully aware that he was probably blushing. “It was...good,” he added with a smile.   
  
“So, absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. “Did you happen to tell him you're still madly in love with him after fifteen years?”   
  
“No wonder you're single.” Steve replied, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge and then returning to help himself to a handful of popcorn.

  
“Well, it's not like you guys are strangers. Don't you think you've wasted enough time?” Sam challenged. Steve rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sam could be pretty clueless. His roommate had dated a few people but none of his dates had ever really come to anything.    
  
“I don't want to rush things, ok? Just go back to trying to choke your apprentice.” He nodded in Scott's direction. “I'm drinking this in my room and calling it a night.”

  
“Whatever, man.” Sam grinned and winked at him. “Just make sure you don't yell Barnes' name too loud, and if you use all the tissues again, don't forget to replace 'em!”   
  
Steve rolled his eyes again, deciding not to dignify that with a response. He made his way to the bedroom and lay down on the bed. 

 

He already knew where he was going to take Bucky for their first official date. He wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but he'd actually had it planned for years. There was a restaurant, Samson's -- he walked past on his way to work every day -- that had always seemed like the perfect place to have a date. It was intimate and romantic, and the menu was full of things he felt sure Bucky would like. He briefly wondered if Bucky was still addicted to pizza like he had been when they were teenagers. Apparently the pizzas at Samson's were some of the best in the city, at least according to Gabe.   
  
His phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out to see a message from Bucky.   
  
**So, when and where? ;)**   
  
Steve texted back the details and included a smiley face emoji. He was tempted to add a kiss but wondered if it might seem too forward. Although, Bucky had kissed him back at the sandwich place, so maybe it would've been okay.   
  
**Samson's huh? Nice. See you there. Looking forward to it xxx**   
  
Steve full-on grinned. This time, he definitely texted back a few kisses.   
  
~*~   
  
Bucky leaned against the railing of the fire escape as he took another drag of his cigarette. This was the quiet part of the shift. He was in between performances and didn't feel like wandering down to the bar to get a drink. Instead, he'd thrown an old hoodie over his naked top half and retreated to his usual spot, which always guaranteed he'd be left alone. The rest of the dancers chose to smoke in their break lounge, swapping stories of gross clients and gossip about each other.    
  
He continued to swipe through the photo album on his phone. The one he'd promised Clint that he'd deleted weeks ago. It was full of pictures of Brock, some on his own and some of them doing stuff together, like the time at the theme park, or the trip to the Rockefeller Center that one Christmas. Brock's handsome face and captivating smile stared up at him, whether it was wet from the waterslide or bundled up in a hat and scarf. The date he'd arranged with Steve had made him think back to the time he'd first met Brock. It hadn't been an intentional thing; it had just sort of happened. He'd been in college for almost a year at the time, and he'd found Brock in a cheesy nightclub that he'd been dragged to by his roommate. He’d nearly made some excuse to not go, so when he’d met Brock there, it’d seemed like fate.   
  
**Twelve years ago...**   
  
“What even is this place?” Bucky asked as the darkness of the entrance gave way to the bright lights of the club. The walls were covered with disco posters and a large crowd were gathered on the dance floor which, to Bucky's disgust, was revolving. A large mirrored disco ball hung from the ceiling, slowly rotating above the dancers. It was like walking into a cheap porno, but without the sex to make up for it.   
  
“You have no taste, Barnes!” Peter Quill, the guy he'd met on his first day of college as his roommate, had already started to move to the beat that was pounding from the DJ station. “Everyone knows the seventies was the best decade for music!” he yelled over the current track, which Bucky recognised as ELO's 'Mr Blue Sky', a favourite on one of Peter's many mix tapes that he liked to play at full volume in their dorm room. Despite Peter’s many attempts to break Bucky down by repetitive plays, Bucky still hadn't warmed to what he'd affectionately dubbed ‘disco trash’. Peter started strutting towards the dance floor.

  
“Aw come on man, don't leave me with these two!” Bucky pleaded, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. Behind him, Natasha and her girlfriend, a tall beautiful woman with the most amazing black and pink hair, Gamora, were currently locked in a passionate embrace. They'd only been dating a few weeks but were already sickeningly inseparable.

  
“Damn, that's hot!” Peter remarked, which earned him the finger from Nat as she continued to kiss Gamora. “I gotta dance to this one Barnes, it's my jam!”   
  
“Everything's your jam,” Bucky replied wearily, but Peter was already off and away toward the crowd of moving bodies.

 

Bucky followed Nat and Gamora to a table, and quickly decided to make for the bar when they resumed their kissing in earnest. He certainly wasn't going to sit there and play third wheel. Shaking his head fondly at Peter, who was currently entering what seemed to be a dance-off with a fellow clubber, Bucky sat himself down at the bar and ordered a vodka. 

 

The DJ changed the track to 'Disco Inferno,' which was punctuated with a cheer from the crowd. Bucky surveyed them, idly looking for someone who had the potential to be a hook up. A lot of people had dressed up for the occasion, and it was hard to single out a likely target amongst the flares, fake gold medallions and rainbow afro wigs.   
  
He glanced along the rest of the bar and found his eyes settling on the guy sitting a couple of stools down from him. The guy had short dark hair, immaculately styled, and was wearing a perfectly normal white t-shirt and blue jeans. Bucky couldn't help but admire the muscular biceps that strained against the t-shirt's sleeves. His face was angular, and even in the darkened club, Bucky could tell the guy was handsome. He seemed to be focused on the bar top, staring into his glass of what looked like whiskey. He was slumped slightly, his whole body radiating sadness and defeat. He was exactly the type of guy Bucky would usually go for. Young, hot and in need of the kindness of a stranger.   
  
Emboldened by the stranger's apparent plight, Bucky knocked back his vodka and ordered another. He was already feeling pleasantly buzzed. Their poor students’ budget meant that everyone had gathered in Nat's dorm room to chug a few bottles of cheap cider before embarking on the night out, which made it a hell of a lot cheaper to get drunk once they'd hit the bars.   
  
With a new glass of vodka in hand and the confidence from the alcohol flowing through him, Bucky slid across the stools toward the stranger.

  
“Hey, what are ya drinkin'?” he asked. The guy looked up, his dark eyes looked sore and puffy. He'd obviously been crying. “Whiskey, right? You look like you could use another.”   
  
“Yeah.” The guy replied thickly. Bucky nodded and signalled to the bartender to bring another whiskey.

  
“I'm Bucky by the way.” Bucky said, as the guy finished his whiskey and pulled the replacement closer. “What brings you to this um...interesting? Establishment?”   
  
“Not a fan of disco music either, huh?” the guy answered, sniffing. “I don't know how I ended up here to be honest. I think the guys ditched me after I became too much of a downer,” he added with a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I should explain. I just split up from my partner of five years. Found him in bed with another guy.”   
  
“Sorry to hear that,” Bucky commiserated, taking a gulp of vodka and trying to ignore how much he wanted to kiss this handsome stranger. “Well, for what it's worth, your ex is a total idiot.” He nodded as if that settled the matter. The stranger broke into a smile and shook his head fondly. “Hey! I made you smile! That's gotta be worth a spin on the dance floor right?”   
  
“You like this song?” the guy asked with a raised eyebrow.   
  
“Oh, hell no!” Bucky replied, draining his glass. “My roommate dragged me here because he's 'special,'” he continued, making air quotes. “But I figure you could use some fun, even if it's trashy,

cheesy fun.”   
  
“Well, can't argue with that.” The guy smiled again, showing a set of perfect white teeth. Bucky tried not to melt. “Let's hit the floor. Brock's the name, by the way.”   
  
“Well, Brock, it's nice to meet you. Let's go bust a move!”   
  


  
**Present day...**   
  
The door to the fire escape suddenly opened and one of the floor managers, Jasper Sitwell, poked his head around it.

 

“You're on in five.” he snapped, sounding as harassed as he usually did. Bucky nodded, sighing and pocketing his phone. He took a final drag of his cigarette and tossed it over the edge of the railing before heading back inside the club.   
  
~*~   
  
“What about this?” Steve asked anxiously, holding out his arms for inspection. “Too formal?” 

 

He fiddled with the tie around his neck. Sam and Scott were sitting on the couch and had been witness to Steve's wardrobe dilemma for the past half an hour. There had been a lot of pacing around, a lot of hand wringing and a lot of muttering to himself. He hadn't been aware of any of it until Sam had pointed it out and insisted he sit down for five fucking minutes.

  
“You look good man.” Sam replied. He elbowed Scott who looked up from his Game Boy and nodded emphatically.   
  
“Yeah, totally awesome,” he said encouragingly.   
  
“So not too formal?” Steve fussed. He'd put on his best navy suit and matching tie, paired with a deep maroon shirt. He was wearing his expensive shoes, the ones he usually saved for parent/teacher meetings, and had shined them to perfection. He wanted to look good for Bucky, but not like he'd tried too hard.   
  
“No!” Sam exclaimed with a roll of his eyes. “You look good.”   
  
“Yeah, but you guys have said that about every outfit I've shown you tonight.” Steve replied worriedly. He gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror. He'd taken even more care than usual to style his hair tonight, as well as giving his beard a neat trim. “I want this night to be-”   
  
“Perfect.” Sam and Scott interrupted simultaneously.   
  
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Steve offered them a shy grin. “I'm fussing.”   
  
“Really?” Sam said sarcastically. “We haven't noticed.” He stood up and clapped Steve on the back as he moved past to go to the kitchen. “You look fine, man. And let's face it, it's all gonna be on the bedroom floor in a couple of hours anyway.” he called out, grabbing a bag of chips from their well stocked junk cupboard.   
  


“What?” Steve spluttered.   
  
“Aw, come on, Choir Boy. Don't act like you're not gonna fuck Barnes' brains out tonight,” Sam teased with a wink. He ripped open the chips and poured them into his grey plastic Death Star bowl. “Although, if you are, I'd appreciate if you didn't scream the house down while you're doing it. I've got an early client in the morning.” He flopped back down on the couch, bowl in hand.   
  
“I know I've said this before...but it's really no surprise you're single,” Steve replied as he adjusted his tie once more. 

 

Sure, he hoped that he and Bucky might have sex tonight, but there was no way he was going to admit that Sam was right. Besides, the mere thought made him even more nervous. What if Bucky didn't like his body? What if Steve did something weird in bed? What if he pushed too far and Bucky didn't even want to have sex? 

 

The opening credits of LA Ink suddenly boomed from the TV. “Ok, well, I think it's time I made my exit. Wish me luck, guys.”   
  
“Sixteen years of pining? You ain't gonna need it,” Sam shot back, grabbing a handful of chips whilst simultaneously keeping them away from Scott's grasp. Steve stuck his tongue out at his roommate and turned on his heel, giving his reflection one last check over before leaving the apartment.   
~*~   
  
“So what do you think of this place?” Steve asked nervously as they were seated at a beautifully set table in the corner of Samson’s. Steve had taken pains to book a corner table, to give them a little privacy. He desperately wanted the place to appear romantic and special. Bucky had obviously taken as much effort as he had in his appearance. Once again, his hair was pulled back into a bun but this time it looked neater, more careful. He was wearing an expensive looking black suit with a black shirt and a thin red tie. He looked breathtakingly stunning. 

  
“It’s nice,” Bucky answered, looking around at the other dining couples. “It’s a bit Pretty Woman, though.”    
  
“What?” Steve frowned a little. “You’re not a hooker, Buck.”   
  
“It was a joke, Stevie, relax.” Bucky winked at him, and Steve felt his heart flutter. “I’m not used to being treated so well,” Bucky added with a smile. 

 

Steve blushed and, to hide it, started to look over the complicated menu. 

  
“Well, I think I’m going to go for the duck in a raspberry coulis,” he said after a few moments. Bucky nodded and summoned the waiter,, asking for a vodka straight up with no ice. He seemed to struggle over the menu before Steve prompted him to try one of the artisan pizzas. Bucky took him up on the suggestion and ordered the four seasons. The waiter then looked at Steve expectantly. Since nobody was driving tonight, Steve figured he could treat himself. “I’ll take a whiskey, please, on the rocks.”    
  
The waiter moved away gracefully, as if he were walking on air. Steve smiled at Bucky, who was still perusing the menu with a small frown of concentration. He couldn’t believe his luck. Not only had he gotten Bucky back into his life, but Bucky actually wanted to date him. 

  
“So, tell me about what you’ve been getting up to since I saw you last,” Steve said. There was a small part of him that wanted to add ‘since you deserted me’ but, of course, he didn’t. After all, he didn’t really know for sure that that’s what Bucky had done.    
  
“That’s sixteen years, Stevie. It’s a hell of a long story,” Bucky replied, offering the waiter a charming smile as his vodka was placed in front of him. To Steve’s surprise, he drank it down there and then and immediately ordered another. Steve couldn’t help but smile. Bucky was obviously feeling as nervous about this as he was. “I do wanna clear one thing up though. I tried to get in contact with you, but my Dad wouldn’t let me. And then...I guess I started thinking it was probably too late to try,” he admitted.    
  
“I get it, Buck,” Steve replied. “I did the same thing, after a certain amount of time you just kind of move on. I mean, you’re kinda forced to, y’know?”    
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said wistfully. The waiter brought him another vodka, and Steve was silently relieved to see that Bucky didn’t down this one. “So, Mr. Beardy Rogers, tell me more about being a kindergarten teacher. I bet your class loves you.”    
  
“I guess so,” Steve admitted humbly, feeling a little blush creep across his cheeks. He hoped it wouldn’t be noticed in the ambient restaurant lighting. 

 

“You didn’t want to go into the art world, then? I know you mentioned the volunteering thing. I always imagined you’d be exhibiting in galleries,” Bucky replied. He couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten how amazingly adorable Steve looked when he blushed.

  
“Me too,” Steve said with a grin, as their food was brought to them. “My Ma was certainly convinced, too. But then when I stumbled into teaching, it felt like, why hadn’t I thought of this before, y’know?” He started to tuck into his meal. Now that his nerves had given way somewhat, he realised how hungry he was. 

 

“How is your Ma?” Bucky asked. Just the thought of Sarah Rogers was enough to make him smile.

 

“Oh, you know Ma,” Steve chuckled. “Should be slowing down, but isn’t. They offered her retirement, but she refused.” He shook his head fondly. “And...um, your Ma?” 

 

“Don’t really see her all that much anymore,” Bucky shrugged. “My parents never agreed with my lifestyle, so I don’t bother them, and they don’t bother me,”    
  
As the meal passed, Steve and Bucky caught up, learning what changes had happened in the sixteen years, and what had stayed the same. Steve wolfed down his meal, enjoying every last morsel. Bucky seemed to be a little more finicky. He played with it a lot, cutting it into small pieces and moving them around his plate before he put them into his mouth. He also raved about the quality of his pizza, and somehow Steve had ended up with half of it on his plate. After a quick visit to the bathroom from Bucky, they were eventually ready to leave, having opted to head straight for Steve’s place.   
  
******   
  
“Nice place you have here,” Bucky commented as he looked around the apartment that Steve called home. The walls were the same white that always seemed to come with rented places, but they'd been livened up by movie posters -- including, Bucky noted, Steve's old favourites, the original Star Wars trilogy. There were two fat, comfy-looking red couches with multi-coloured crochet throws slung over the backs of them. No doubt these were lovingly provided by Sarah Roger's hand. A small pine coffee table was in the middle, with a mixture of tattoo and art magazines spread out across it, as well as a couple of old coffee mugs. Next to a large-screen TV was a black bookcase that was filled with DVDs. Bucky's eyes skimmed over a few of the titles. It was certainly an impressive collection.   
  
His eyes were then drawn to the top of the bookcase. It contained a hodge-podge of various things: pasta necklaces, wobbly clay pots, and dried up daisy chains. Above these were a series of paintings. Some looked like splashes of random colour, others had crudely drawn stick figures and buildings.

  
“My class,” Steve explained with a grin. “They're always giving me things and I don't like throwing them away, so it’s kinda my own personal gallery.”   
  
“It's nice,” Bucky replied. And it was. This place felt like a home. It was a far cry from his own stark apartment that he hadn't really bothered with since Brock had picked up and left.   
  


“So, take your jacket off and have a seat. I'll grab us some drinks.” Steve said, going into full Rogers Host Mode. It made Bucky smile. Like mother, like son. He took off his leather jacket and slung it over the back of the couch before sitting down, relishing how comfortable the couch was.   
  
“I didn't know you were into tattoos.” Bucky nodded at the magazines on the table as Steve came into the room with a couple of cans of soda. “I thought your experience put you off.” Bucky smirked. “What was it again? ‘I never wanna see another tattoo again as long as I live?’”   
  
“They're my roommate's,” Steve explained with a grin. “And that was sixteen years ago now, and if you remember, I didn't wanna do it. Someone used his charms on me.”   
  
“That’s me, regular charmer,” Bucky said with a wink. “So, Rogers, it’s been sixteen years. Are you going to keep playing gracious host like a good boy, or are you going to get your ass over here and kiss me?”   
  
****   
  
Bucky stared up at the ceiling as Steve slept soundly next to him. His hulking figure looked even more impressive in bed, the moonlight shining on his slightly tanned skin. Bucky wanted to reach out and touch it, but he was too afraid of waking Steve up. If Steve was anything like Brock, he wouldn't appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night just because Bucky wanted to show him some affection. Besides, Steve looked so perfect that Bucky was afraid to taint him by his touch.   
  
Not trusting his resolve to keep his hands to himself, Bucky slowly and carefully drew back the covers. With care, he slipped out of the bed and tiptoed across the bedroom. He was an expert at not disturbing even the lightest sleeper which, unfortunately, Brock had been. At the last moment, he grabbed Steve's NYU hoodie from the back of the bedroom door and slipped it on over his grey t-shirt. Hugging the material to his chest, he padded into the lounge area. He liked the messiness of Steve's apartment. It was comfortable and cosy and gave off a relaxed air that Bucky never felt when he was alone in his own place. It even had a comforting smell, of old books and vanilla. His place, most of the time, smelt like stale beer and cigarette smoke.    
  
Bucky approached the bookshelf full of DVDs, intending to find something to watch, but instead found his attention being drawn to what was obviously a photo album, tucked away on the bottom shelf. He bent down to retrieve it and went to sit on the couch. He sank into the squashy red cushions and drew his feet up underneath himself to keep them warm. The album was red with a mock leather covering. He ran his hand over the title of the album, picked out in embossed gold lettering. 'Memory Lane'. He smirked a little. That was so Steve. Corny as all hell.   
  
He opened the cover and was surprised to see the first picture was of him and Steve. They were arm in arm and standing next to a slightly wonky looking sandcastle. They had band-aids on their knees. They were dressed in identical blue shorts. Steve had sun cream smeared on his face. 

 

Bucky remembered the day it was taken. On the first summer together after they'd become friends. Steve's Ma had taken them on a day trip to the beach and they'd spent ages playing on the sand, paddling in the sea and eating ice cream. Steve had had the grand idea of building a sandcastle, taking the whole thing very seriously and insisting that they make it as authentic to the real thing as possible. As he'd prattled on about mottes and baileys and barbicans, Bucky had dutifully tried his best with the bucket and spade they had. The evening had come, and Sarah had given them some money to have a go in the amusement arcade. Bucky managed to win a slightly wonky looking bear which he handed over to Steve with a flourish.    
  
Bucky turned the page quickly. The next photo was of Steve's birthday, shortly after the beach trip. Steve was sitting in front of one of his mother's double fudge chocolate cakes, decorated, of course, to look like a castle. Steve had a paper crown on his head, errant bits of blonde hair sticking out of the top. Bucky was sitting next to him, chocolate smears on his face and wearing a matching crown. His was at a rakish angle and he was smiling directly at Steve who was preparing to blow his candles out.   
  
As Bucky flipped through the album, it was like taking a trip into his past. Each page held more photos of them as they grew up. Birthdays, Christmases, day trips. They were all here. Bucky closed the album with a snap. He hadn't expected Steve to still have them. He frowned into the darkness. Did that mean that Steve still loved him? It had been a long time since Bucky had thought about those feelings. Those feelings for Steve that his father told him he needed to get over if he wanted to continue being a part of the family. 

 

Surely Steve was after his body? It might not be anything to look at but Bucky knew one thing, he was good at sex. Surely that was all Steve wanted from him. A few good lays and then goodbye. That's how it always ended. Sometimes it wasn't even a few. Sometimes all that people wanted from him was one quick fuck. 

  
“Hey, can’t sleep?” Steve whispered, padding into the lounge in a brown bathrobe. His eyes were screwed up against the light.    
  
“Yeah,” Bucky replied. He quickly slid the photo album under a cushion. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want Steve to know he’d been looking at it.    
  
“Come back to bed,” Steve said with a yawn. “We can just talk if you still can’t sleep,” he added with a sleepy smile. Not wanting to argue, or disturb Steve’s sleep any further than he already had, Bucky nodded and followed him back to the bedroom.   
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^   
  
“Jesus fuck, dude! The bathroom door has a lock! Use it!” Sam yelped as he shielded his eyes quickly. At seven in the morning he hadn’t planned on walking into his own bathroom and seeing some guy completely buck naked and checking himself out in the mirror.    
  
“Shit, sorry,” the guy apologised, quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. “I'm a stripper, y'know? Used to people seeing me naked,” he said jokingly as he pushed his long hair back off his forehead.   
  
“So not cool, man.” Sam shook his head. “Well, I’m assuming you’re Bucky, and if so, this wasn’t at all the way I imagined meeting you,” he continued witheringly. He’d expected to meet Bucky somewhere normal but, such was his life. It seemed he was unable to make it to the kitchen for some breakfast without being scarred for life and requiring eye bleach. “It's way too early in the morning to be seeing dick.”   
  
“Oh? You have a preference?” he teased as he pulled his borrowed sweats on underneath the towel. “Because it can easily be arranged, you know,” he added with a wink. He stuck his hand out, but them seemed to think better of it. “And yeah, it’s Bucky. You’re Sam, right?”   
  
“That’s me. And hell to the no about seeing your dick again,” Sam said. “There goes my appetite for bacon and sausages.” He rolled his eyes. “We need to make some ground rules if you're gonna be hanging around here. Number one being use the damn lock!”   
  
“Hey, guys!” Scott suddenly appeared in the small hallway. He looked rumpled, and had obviously slept on the couch in his clothes again. Sam sighed deeply. He could write a damn novel of ground rules for his stupid-ass apprentice.

  
“So we have bathroom meetings now?” he said, shaking his head again. How had this become his adult life? Surely these kind of things only happened in very bad comedy movies. Right now his life was reminding him of his rather hazy college years.    
  
“Nah, you two gotta see this! Especially you whoever you are,” Scott replied, pointing to Bucky, who shrugged and discarded the towel before pulling on a t-shirt with a slogan that read 'I'm Inkcredible!'. 

 

Sam actually face-palmed.

  
“Ground Rule Number Two: that is the first and last time you wear my clothes,” he said wearily.   
  
“Come on! You'll miss it! We can do introductions after,” Scott urged. He made a big production of putting his finger to his lips and creeping down the hallway toward the kitchen. Sam rolled his eyes expressively and followed. Bucky took up the rear, wondering if Steve's roommates were always such an odd mixture of highly-strung and completely fucking weird.   
  
As they got closer to the kitchen, Bucky suddenly understood why Scott had been so eager for them to follow him. He could hear Steve singing, alongside the clattering noises of breakfast being prepared. The three of them poked their head around the corner of the wall and instantly had to clamp their hands over their mouths at the sight that met them.   
  
Steve was dressed in SpongeBob SquarePants pyjama pants. There was a pan of bacon sizzling away on the stove and he was holding a pair of tongs aloft, air drumming with them as he wriggled his shoulders and swayed his hips and sang happily to himself.   
“Absentmindedly making me want you! And I don't know why but with you I'd dance, in a storm, in my best dress, fearless!”   
  
Sam and Scott shook their heads and went back into the hallway. Seconds later, Bucky could hear them chuckling in the bathroom. 

 

He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his boyfriend prancing around the kitchen as he sang. He waited for Steve's attention to be focused on the bacon again before he entered the kitchen quietly and wrapped his arms around Steve from behind, planting a kiss on his boyfriend's muscular shoulder.

  
“You wanna wear that best dress for me one day?” he teased. Steve turned around in his arms. He looked fucking adorable when he blushed.   
  
“You weren't supposed to hear that,” he replied. “I was actually planning on bringing you breakfast in bed.”   
  
“Well, that does sound good,” Bucky said, planting a kiss on Steve's lips. “But honestly, there are better things to do in bed than eat.” He raised his eyebrow suggestively.   
  
“You proved that very well last night.” Steve broke free to tend to the bacon. “At least sit down on the couch and let me serve you one hell of a bacon sandwich?”   
  
“Sounds good.” Bucky turned to leave. “Oh, and hey? Do you do requests? Cos I like 'Bad Blood' better!” He added, hooting with laughter as Steve swatted at his ass with a dishcloth.    
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^   
  
“Corkscrew!” Lukin yelled from his seat at the end of the stage. Bucky could feel the old man's eyes on him as he expertly spun from the top to the bottom of the pole, landing on his feet with perfect grace. Lukin however, failed to look impressed. 

 

“Sloppy,” he said shortly. “Again.”   
  
Bucky bit back a sigh and climbed to the top of the pole again. He wasn’t about to admit it to the crazy old bastard, but he was feeling pretty distracted. He’d spent the morning hanging out with Steve, and getting to know Sam and Scott better, before they’ll all gone their separate ways for work. There’d been bacon sandwiches, perfect coffee, and the type of banter that Bucky hadn’t even realised he’d been missing in his life.    
  
Back to the dancing, he told himself sternly as he felt Lukin’s steely eyes boring into him. 

  
Pierce had decided that in order to add some 'spice' to his routine as the new improved Winter Soldier, they should incorporate the pole into his act. He was far from a stranger to the pole; it had been how he'd made most of his money when he'd first started at the club, and had been his daily bread for year or so. But Pierce had insisted on a refresher class.   
  
Cursing both Lukin and Pierce inside his head, Bucky performed the move again, Lukin's eyes roving over his body as he moved. The old man made a noise that could've been satisfaction, but with Lukin it was hard to tell. He was quick to tell you what you were doing wrong, but his compliments were few and far between. He was a former dance teacher, an old friend of Pierce's, who'd taught in Russia for decades before moving to the US to help Pierce with the club. Rumour had it that he'd reduced more than a few of his students to breakdowns during his years at the ballet school.   
  
“How's he doing?” 

 

Pierce himself suddenly approached the stage, giving Bucky a slow round of applause. Judging by his fancy suit and the cigar in his mouth, he'd obviously been schmoozing with investors in his office again.   
  
“It will take work. But I'm thinking it will be good.” Lukin answered in his heavy accented English. “This was good idea of yours.”    
  
Bucky tutted as quietly as he could. Ass-kisser. Obviously he didn’t do it quiet enough because Pierce focused his attention on him. 

  
“And what do you think, James?” he asked, his eyes scanning Bucky’s body for a few seconds. He looked annoyed, an eyebrow raised in disgust. “Why are you wearing that?” He pointed an accusing finger at Bucky's apparel.   
  
“I...I don't know.” Bucky replied, swallowing hard. He was wearing the borrowed sweatpants and the t-shirt he'd swiped from Sam that morning and somehow managed to keep. “Comfort, I guess.” He added with a shrug. His Winter Soldier stage costume might look good but, despite T’Challa’s efforts, it was still uncomfortable as fuck.    
  
“Don't you think it would benefit Aleksander here to see your body as you perform your routine?” Pierce made it sound like he was asking a question but, as it always was with Pierce, it was anything but. “He needs to make sure you're using your muscles correctly.”   
  
“This I try to tell him.” Lukin said, shaking his head. “But you know he doesn't listen.”   
  
Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, holding back a glare in the old man's direction. The guy had said no such thing. He opened his eyes to see Pierce staring at him expectantly. Feeling anxiety twist in his stomach, Bucky shucked off his sweats and pulled the t-shirt over his head, dumping both to the side of the stage so he was standing in front of the two men in just his underwear. Thank fuck he decided to wear some. 

  
“Better.” Lukin continued with a nod. “Now, you show Mr Pierce your corkscrew, da?”   
  
Bucky climbed the pole again. The metal felt cold against his skin as he hooked his legs around it, gripping with his thighs. He was aware that he was completely on show as he started to twist, spiralling round as he moved down the pole. He didn't smile. He wasn't supposed to. The Winter Soldier was cold and calculating. He didn't show emotion. He obeyed his handlers without question or comment.   
  
“Excellent,” Pierce said as Bucky landed on his feet once more. “You're going to be a big hit, James.” His eyes once again moved over his body. “And your new outfit is going to be perfect.” 

 

Pierce clicked his fingers and within seconds Sitwell appeared, as if from nowhere. He was a snivelling toad of a man whom Bucky privately hated. 

 

“Go and fetch James' outfit,” Pierce said.  “T'Challa should be done by now.” Sitwell nodded and scurried off in the direction of T'Challa's office. Pierce pulled one of the chairs to the end of the stage and sat down beside Lukin. “I think a dress rehearsal is in order, don't you, Aleksander?”   
  
“I’ll grab it,” Bucky replied, making a beeline for T’Challa’s office before anyone could argue to the contrary. He didn’t bother with knocking, knowing that T’Challa wasn’t bothered about such formalities. The Wakandan designer was standing at his angled desk, muttering to himself as he compared fabric swatches.    
  


“Buckybear! I’ve finished your outfit,” T’Challa said cheerfully, abandoning his desk. He was smiling broadly. Bucky had no idea how the man did it, but he never seemed to be in a bad mood.

  
“Can I talk to you?” Bucky asked, sliding onto one of the stools. If Pierce or Lukin questioned the delay, they could just make out like they were making some last minute adjustments. 

  
“Of course you can,” T’Challa replied, unzipping the costume from its protective plastic sleeve and tutting at something.    
  
“I met someone,” Bucky started, swinging one of his legs. He stared at T’Challa’s carpet, which was covered in odd feathers and bits of glitter. “Someone I really care about,” he added softly.

  
“I would think that you would be a lot more excited,” T’Challa commented lightly. He pulled Bucky off the stool and held the outfit up against him. “I think it’ll be a perfect fit.”    
  
“I am excited,” Bucky admitted. “But mostly I’m scared. Like, it’s not supposed to be this easy? You’ve just met up with someone and everything seems to fit. It’s terrifying,” he explained.    
  
“I understand,” T’Challa said with a nod, laying the costume down on his nearby workbench with great care. “Although it is daunting, it is also enjoyable, so I would urge you to catch that feeling and hold it tightly.”    
  
“But I don’t deserve it,” Bucky replied. He would never admit this to Steve. Nor would he admit it to Clint, or even Nat. T’Challa often had the misfortune of having to listening to Bucky’s emo bullshit. “Look at me.” He shook his head with disgust. “I don’t deserve someone like him. He’s so...*” Bucky flailed for the correct word. “Good. And I’m like the opposite of that.”    
  
“You are not a bad person,” T’Challa said firmly, holding out the stupidly tiny shorts that were going to be his new outfit.    
  
“We’ll agree to disagree on that.” 

 

Bucky pulled the shorts up. They were made from black leather, just like the drawing Pierce had given him. He felt like an idiot. “He was really shocked when I told him I did this.” He nodded at the costume as T’Challa connected the leather strap across his chest. 

  
“No. You will hush your mouth and listen to your Uncle T’Challa,” T’Challa said firmly. “You are a good man, my Buckybear. If this person has a problem with your work, he is not deserving of you.” He finished adjusting the strap and gently cupped Bucky’s face. “Some say that love only comes along once. You must seize it with both hands, but first you need to realize you are deserving of it.”   
  
“Aren’t you younger than me?” Bucky asked as T’Challa moved on to painting the trademark red star on his left arm. 

  
“Doesn’t matter,” T’Challa tutted. “I hope this man helps you to see that you are a good person who deserves good things.” He fussed over the finishing touches to the star for a moment. “If he does not, I will be having words with him.” He handed Bucky the black mask as the final part of the costume. “Here you go, Sweets. I am sorry you have to wear this infernal thing,”   
  
“Yeah, but at least I can appreciate the excellent craftsmanship,” Bucky replied, winking at T’Challa, his facade moving back into place at the forefront, where it should be. He took a deep breath and headed back to the stage for the dreaded dress rehearsal.    
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

 

**Sixteen years ago...**   
  
“Stop hitting me, you jerk, you’re supposed to be hitting the bad guys!” Steve crowed with frustration as, yet again, Bucky’s onscreen character started to kick him. It was Friday evening, which meant they had two whole days ahead of them with no school. In what had fast become a tradition of theirs, Steve had come home with Bucky for an evening of video games, and junk food care of Winifred Barnes. “I mean it, Buck! We’ll never make it to the final boss if you keep kickin’ my ass.”   
  
“We’re doin’ good, Stevie,” Bucky replied with a wink. He promptly moved to the other side of the screen and started wailing on a street punk who had just appeared. “You know we rock at Streets of Rage.”    
  
“I do,” Steve replied cheekily as he took two enemies out at once. Bucky stuck his tongue out at him. 

 

The pair jumped, startled, when Bucky’s new cell phone beeped. They still weren’t used to the cell phone yet. It seemed that pretty much everyone at school had them now, and the tones were always going off in class, forever annoying the teachers and Steve alike. Bucky paused the game and leant across the bed on his stomach, foraging for his backpack on the floor. Steve tried to keep his eyes on the screen but there was only so much entertainment somebody could get out of staring at a game’s pause screen.    
  
Steve found himself involuntarily licking his lips as Bucky bent over further. He didn’t know exactly when he’d developed these feelings for his best friend, but they’d certainly taken him by surprise. His Ma, being a nurse and all, had sat him down and explained to him all about sex, including same sex couples. She’d been quick to say that if Steve himself wanted to be with a man, she wouldn’t have any problem with it, and would still love him just as much.    
  
So -- did he have feelings for Bucky? Or was it just suggestion from his Ma’s talk?    
  
“It’s Janice,” Bucky said, sitting back up and consulting his phone. He rolled his eyes dramatically and tossed the phone on the bed. “Keeps trying to ask me out. She sent me this cheesy note in math class the other day.”   
  
Steve nodded, completely unsurprised by this. Bucky was very popular amongst the girls at school. It seemed like every week one of them was asking for his number. 

  
“You like her?” Steve asked, hoping that he would be subtle enough.    
  
“Nah,” Bucky replied. “She’s just a friend.” 

 

He moved to pick up his controller, but stopped when Steve continued, sounding wistful.

  
“You’re so lucky,” he said. “You’ve got all these girls after you, and then there’s me. Fifteen years old and never been kissed,”    
  
“It ain’t all that great, Stevie,” Bucky replied with a shrug. “The girls I’ve kissed always wear way too much lipstick,” He started looking at Steve intensely. “Taste too sweet y’know?”    
  
Steve didn’t dare say a word. Bucky was looking at him searchingly, like he’d never looked at him before. 

  
“Hey Stevie...you ever wondered what it’d be like...to kiss a guy?” Bucky asked quietly.    
  
“Um…” Steve swallowed hard. “Yeah, actually…”    
  
Bucky’s lips suddenly make contact with his own. Steve reacted stiffly at first, but as it hit him that Bucky Barnes was actually kissing him, he started to relax and enjoy it, letting out a little moan of pleasure when Bucky’s hand came up to stroke his cheek.    
  
“Son, your Mother was--” George Barnes’ voice was cut off as he opened the door and caught sight of his son kissing that Rogers boy. He’d thought the two were buddies, not...this. “What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded, as the two boys sprang apart.   
  
“Dad! we were just…” Bucky seemed to be struggling for an explanation.    
  
“Get out.” he said, pointing at the Rogers boy. It was all that kid’s fault, he knew it. “You’re to get out and you’re to stay away from my son. Do you hear?” he roared. The Rogers boy looked terrified as he quickly gathered his things. 

 

Bucky laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t, Steve, it’s ok,”    
  
“I said get out,” George repeated furiously. Bucky glared at him angrily, but George wasn’t going to give in. “Get your hands off him, James.” He warned before stepping forwards and pulling the two boys apart. The Rogers boy scrabbled for his things, barely grabbing them all in time before he was frogmarched out of the room. 

“I hate you!” Bucky yelled as the retreating back of his father. “I fucking hate you!”

 

**Present Day.**   
  
Steve shook his head, as if it would shake out the horrible memory. He’d arrived at work and was helping himself to the staff supply of cookies to go with his coffee. Getting Bucky back into his life had brought back snippets of their early lives together, some that he didn’t even realize he remembered. Most of them were happy or silly, but as much as he wanted to, he could never forget what had happened after George Barnes had found them kissing.

  
“Good morning!” Peggy greeted as she entered the staff room. She was impeccably turned out as usual. Her brown hair was swept up in a neat bun and she was wearing a navy blue pantsuit. Her trademark red lipstick had been neatly applied and she was grinning all over her face. He had the glow of someone who was about to embark on marriage.

  
“Mornin,’ Peg!” Steve greeted cheerfully, glad of the distraction. As well as Sharon, Peggy was one of his closest friends at work. “Not long until the big day now! Speaking of which, I need to get my rental tux sorted.”   
  
“Thank you, Steve, it’s been a long time coming,” she replied happily. “Only three more months and I’ll proudly be Mrs Dugan,” she added as she poured herself some coffee. “So, what’s new with you? I’m frankly bored of all the wedding talk at the moment! I could do with some good old fashioned gossip that doesn’t have anything to do with place settings or table decorations!” she said with a grin as she sat down next to Steve.    
  
“I ever tell you about Bucky?” Steve asked. He would gladly tell anyone and everyone about Bucky being back in his life again. Peggy was looking at him with a wry smile on her face. Steve blushed. “Ok, so maybe I mentioned him a few times before…”   
  
“Once, twice, three hundred,” Peggy teased. She studied Steve’s face for a moment. “You’ve met him, haven’t you?” She added with a gasp.   
  
“Wait, how did you know?” Steve asked curiously. Peggy always seem to know what people were going to say or do before they did it. That was part of what made her an excellent principal. 

  
“You know I never give away my secrets.” Peggy took a sip from her cup. “Although seeing you happier than you have been in a long time, as well as you bringing him up in conversation, was a very large clue,” she added, smirking. “So, tell me all about it.” She leant back in her chair and smiled at him expectantly.   
  
“I bumped into him on Dum Dum’s night out. We went to a str-- bar, and Bucky was there.” Steve blushed furiously.   
  
“And what was Bucky doing at the strip club?” Peggy asked with a knowing smile. Steve should’ve known that he couldn’t get anything past her. In another life, she would’ve made an excellent spy.

  
“He, uh, works there,” he explained, studying her face for any signs of shock or disgust. If she thought it, she certainly wasn’t showing it. “It’s great to have him back in my life again. We went on a date, actually.”    
  
“Steve, that’s fantastic!” Peggy crowed, her calm facade slipping for a moment as she punched the air in triumph. “That’s excellent news. I trust it’s going well between the two of you?”    
  
“Yeah.” Steve knew his face was on fire at this point, but he truly didn’t care. It  _ was _ going well between the two of them. A lot better than he’d ever imagined or expected, actually.    
  
“It must be wonderful to connect after so many years,” Peggy continued, running her finger over the rim of the cup thoughtfully. “Did you ever see Bucky again after his family moved away?” she asked gently. 

 

Steve shook his head sadly. He didn’t really think about it but, in a strange way, he felt like he needed to talk about it. 

 

**Sixteen years ago...**

 

“So that's it? Just like that?” Steve fought to control his voice. Hard to do when it felt like your whole world had just collapsed in on itself. 

 

He desperately searched Bucky's face for some sign that his best friend was joking, but he looked horribly serious. Bucky wasn't that good an actor, and he probably wouldn't joke about something as world-endingly devastating as this.   
  
“Fucking asshole,” Bucky cursed. They'd been sitting against the wall by the school yard, but now Bucky was on his feet, kicking at the red brick with his well-worn Converse sneakers. He looked frightened, so un-Bucky that Steve was beginning to feel sick. They were best friends, two sides of the same coin. How were they supposed to have each other's backs when Steve would be stuck in Brooklyn and Bucky was being moved almost half way across the country?   
  
“Can't your Mom talk to him?” Steve asked desperately. There had to be something they could do. He refused to believe that this would happen. Like his Ma was fond of saying, there was always a solution to every problem, you just had to find it. Some were harder to find than others.   
  
“She tried.” Bucky shrugged, kicking out at the wall again, a little less venomous this time. “He wouldn't listen to a fuckin' word. She tried tellin' him it's just a phase, I don't know what I want, all teenagers do it. You name it, she said it. The Old Man wouldn't have it though. Said no son of his was gonna be a fag and we were gonna get the hell out of New York.” Bucky jammed his hands in his pockets, refusing to look at Steve. “You know what he's like once somethin's in his head, and you know what she’s like. He pushes and she folds like a soggy piece of paper,” he finished bitterly.    
  
“Was it...” Steve swallowed hard. His heart was suddenly racing with panic. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he needed to ask it anyway. “A phase?”   
  
“No it fuckin' wasn't,” Bucky fired back immediately. He actually looked at Steve this time, his blue eyes determined and steely. “You think I'd do that to you? It meant somethin' to me, Stevie. It meant a fuckin' lot, actually. You ain’t some throwaway teenage kiss.”   
  
“It meant a lot to me too, Buck.” Steve replied solemnly. This seemed to take the edge off Bucky's anger somewhat. He turned around and sat back down. Since they'd unanimously agreed on cutting English class, the school yard was devoid of the usual crowds of students bloating off steam between periods. Bucky grabbed hold of Steve's hand and squeezed it tightly.

  
“I'm sorry, Stevie,” he said quietly, sounding choked up.   
  
Steve hurried down the street towards Bucky's apartment building. It had been a week since Bucky had announced the terrible news that his father was moving the family out of New York, to Florida. There was only a couple of days left until the date of the move, and Steve was anxious to spend as much time with his best friend as he could. Bucky had already said his goodbyes at school, and now Steve sat next to an empty desk. He tried not to think about it too much. He didn't want to make their day of fun sad in any way.   
  
They'd come up with the plan during a particularly boring Math class. They were going to go to Coney Island and ride all the rides until they felt sick. Then they'd eat something from every one of the food stalls, and then Bucky would come back to Steve’s house and they'd have a sleepover. 

Steve felt a little nervous at that part. They hadn't talked about their tentative kiss much since it happened, but Steve thought about it all the time. The feel of Bucky's soft lips on his, how arousing it had been and how it felt so right, like their lips were made for each other. He didn't want to hope too much, but maybe a similar thing would happen again tonight.   
  
He reached the apartment building and hurried up the stairs, his messenger bag banging against his skinny hip. It contained the thing he'd spent most of his nights working on. He'd been dog tired at school and gotten into trouble with his Ma, but the end result had been totally worth it. 

 

He'd taken their superhero designs and turned them into a carefully illustrated comic book. He'd drawn himself as Captain America, and Bucky as a badass assassin. They fought evil together, and in the end they were standing back to back as the crowds cheered their names. Steve had drawn the crowd full of their favourite teachers and some of the other guys from their class. The bad guy of the piece was one of the assholes that used to bully Steve, until Bucky had put a stop to it with a schoolyard fight that thoroughly taught everyone that you don't mess with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. 

 

He couldn't wait for Bucky to see the comic book. Steve knew he'd love it.   
  
He reached Bucky's floor, grinning to himself. When he reached Bucky's front door, it was fully open. Steve frowned; George was fastidious about security, and would never leave the door wide open like that. He looked inside and stopped dead in his tracks. The apartment was completely empty. The carpets had been ripped up, the furniture removed, and there was no sign of anyone having lived there, apart from the ghostly imprints on the wall where Winifred's favourite paintings used to hang. Steve walked into the apartment, his footsteps sounding horribly loud and echoey on the bare floorboards. It was like Bucky and his family had never been here, almost like they'd never existed. It dawned on Steve that he didn't even know whereabouts in Florida Bucky had moved to. George purposely hadn't said because he'd wanted them to sever all contact, so Bucky had never been able to provide Steve with an address to write to or a number to call.   
  
Something, he didn't know what, made him go into Bucky's room. Maybe it was the tiny hope that he was dreaming, that he would walk into that room and Bucky would be there, lounging on his bed like always.   
  
It was, of course, just as empty as the rest of the apartment, completely stripped of Bucky's personality. His rock posters, his collection of battered Converse sneakers, even the old height lines Winifred had drawn on the door frame had been painted over. There was, however, a piece of paper blu-tacked to the wall. It was torn at one side, like it had been quickly torn from a notebook. Steve recognised Bucky's distinctive scrawl instantly, sloping to the left like always. He rushed over and ripped the paper from the wall.   
_   
_ _ Stevie, _ _   
_ _ I'm so sorry. He lied. He fucking lied about the moving date. We're not even going to Florida! He wouldn't let me come and say goodbye. Just packed Mom, Becca and me in the car and sent us on our way while he stayed behind to help the movers. I'm so sorry Stevie. I'm going to find a way to get in contact with you. I swear to fucking God. I gotta go. I love you. _   
  
Steve stared down at the piece of paper, reading it over and over again. He suddenly felt hollow, as empty as the apartment. They hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. Fuck their day of fun, he'd have given it all up for just one last conversation and one last hug with Bucky. Now all he had was this piece of paper with a few hastily scribbled lines. It was all he had left of his best friend. 

 

**Present Day.**   
  
“No,” Steve said sadly. “After his father moved them away without telling him the real date, the first time I saw him after that was at the club.”    
  
“Well, he’s back in your life now, and I couldn’t be happier for you,” Peggy replied, giving Steve’s knee a quick pat. 

  
“Yeah, we’re not going to let anything fuck it up this time,” Steve said adamantly.   
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^   
  
“Ugh, Starbucks? seriously?” Bucky moaned as Nat dragged him towards the door that led into green and brown hell. She’d agreed to meet him for a coffee before heading into the office.

 

Consequently, she was dressed in her best. A black jacket with matching pencil skirt, a red blouse, and black stilettos with red soles. Her hair had been left in elegant loose waves, and Bucky had to admit that she looked knockout beautiful. Not that he’d tell her, of course. She wouldn’t let him forget it if he did. 

  
“Stop being such a hipster, Yasha,” Nat replied as they entered the cafe. Bucky pouted in mock hurt. Natasha Romanoff had come into his life when he’d started college, and he was pretty certain he wouldn’t have survived the experience without her. 

 

**Thirteen years ago...**   
  
At this late hour, it was pretty much a given that the music room would be deserted. By now, most of Bucky’s class were probably either knee deep in books or cheap beer. He had a composition to write for class, and he thought better in the music room. That had always been the case, even back in high school when he spent most afternoons holed up in there as soon as the final bell rang. Steve would be there too, perching on one of the desk, his skinny legs swinging while Bucky wrote and played. He hadn’t heard a thing from Steve in the last three years, but there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think of him. 

 

Now that he was free from his parents’ control, he’d tried writing to Steve, and emailing him. The emails always bounced back and the letters arrived back in his mailbox marked ‘return to sender’. Either Steve had moved on too, or he was sending a clear message that he didn’t want to know Bucky anymore. 

 

Bucky felt a jolt of inspiration for his composition. He suddenly started to plan it in his head. It would be slow, mournful, almost like a funeral march, but end on a hopeful note. A tale of love lost and then found again. 

 

Compared to high school, the college music room had the advantages of better acoustics and a beautifully restored old grand piano. Bucky’s fingers itched for him to sit down on the stool and start playing it.    
  
He reached the double doors and entered the room. It was, as he’d expected, devoid of students except for one girl in the back corner. She was wearing black yoga pants and a cropped black t-shirt showing off her perfectly toned stomach. She was twirling around with such grace and elegance that Bucky assumed she must be a dance student. He’d never seen ballet performed so flawlessly, and he’d volunteered his piano playing skills at a lot of local productions. She obviously had an prodigious talent. He was just turning to leave her to it when she stopped.

  
“Don’t let me chase you out of here,” she said. She had a slight Russian accent. Her hair was a beautiful fiery red, tied back in a neat ponytail. She smiled at him, a slightly lopsided smirk. He found his own lips twitching upwards in response. 

  
“I was just going to play the piano, but I can always do it later,” Bucky replied. “Unless you don’t mind a little music while you practice, that is?”   
  
“Feel free,” she said, nodding at the piano. She raised her arms above her head and brought them back down slowly in a stretch. She moved like liquid and Bucky felt honored to be able to bear witness to it. Surely this girl was top of the dance class? 

 

“So you’re taking dance classes?” he said as he dumped his backpack and sat down on the piano stool. 

 

“I’m taking law classes, actually,” She replied. She adjusted her ponytail, making it tighter. Every movement, no matter how simple, oozed confidence.    
  
“Oh,” Bucky was taken aback. She was doing this for fun?   
  
“I took dance until my last year of high school,” she replied, stretching her legs now. “Then I got bitten by the law bug. I’m Natasha, by the way. Natasha Romanoff.”    
  
“James.” Bucky lifted the piano lid. The black and white keys looked flawless. “But call me Bucky.”    
  
“How about I call you Yasha?” Natasha said. “It’s Russian for James.” She got back into position. “Do you know ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’ by REO Speedwagon?”    
  
“Do I ever!” Bucky replied with a grin. It seemed that Natasha was full of surprises. If she could ballet dance to REO Speedwagon, which just so happened to be his favourite song, she was definitely someone he wanted as a friend. 

 

**Present Day.**   
  
“So, you’ve lost weight,” Nat said bluntly once they’d ordered their coffees and found some seats.    
  
“Nah,” Bucky replied, shrugging it off. “Besides, I’m in love,” he added, knowing that would distract her, at least for a little while. He really didn’t want to get into it about his weight with her again.    
  
“Who is it this week?” Nat teased. “I bet that long hair of yours gets all the guys.” 

 

Bucky chuckled and gave her the finger. He waited until she was taking a sip from her cup before he dropped the bomb.   
“Oh it’s no-one,” he said casually. “Just Steve Rogers.” He added a shrug in there for good measure.    
  
Nat didn’t spit her coffee, much to his disappointment. Still, he supposed she was far too poised and in control to do that sort of thing. He’d hoped she’d look happy, but instead she looked concerned.    
“That’s good Yasha,” she said eventually, blotting at her lips with a napkin. “Just...be careful, okay?” she added after a moment.    
  
“Didn’t you hear me?” Bucky replied incredulously. “It’s Steve! You know, the guy I was madly in love with when I was fifteen? He took me to a really expensive restaurant and then we went back to his place. I don’t need to be careful with Steve because...well, it’s Steve! We know each other.”   
  
“Knew each other, Yasha,” Nat corrected soothingly. She reached out and stroked his hand. “I just don’t want you getting hurt again, that’s all. You’re my Yasha.”

 

**Twelve years ago...**   
  
Winter in Chicago was always a beautiful sight. The snow would fall, blanketing the city in a pristine carpet. Bucky had always found winter to be the most romantic of seasons, and this winter he would be able to enjoy it even more, because he had a boyfriend.

  
“I love snow, don’t you?” Bucky cuddled closer to Brock as they walked down the street. They’d just eaten at a cute little Italian restaurant, and now Brock had announced that, as a surprise, he was taking Bucky ice skating. As far as first dates went, Bucky was pretty sure it was up there among the greats. All of the college guys he’d dated seemed more interested in getting drunk and getting laid than actually going out for a meal and planning romantic surprises. He knew that Brock was going to be a cut above the rest.    
The skating rink was quiet, almost deserted when they went to collect their skates. Brock got onto the ice first, and was obviously a natural as he glided across it with practised ease. Bucky gripped onto the handrail and focused all his attention on trying to remain upright. He’d seen the first Rocky movie. Adrian and Rocky had made it look so easy, and it was easily one of the most romantic things he’d ever seen as they skated and chatted together.   
  
Within a few minutes, he’d gotten up the courage to let go of the railing. He was just about to fall to the ice when arms wrapped around his waist, strong and sure, holding him upright. Bucky felt himself melt into them and couldn’t help but purr when Brock whispered into his ear.

  
“I’ve got you Baby,” 

 

**Present Day.**

  
“I won’t,” Bucky replied with a confidence that he sure as hell didn’t feel. Steve wouldn’t hurt him, right? He’d felt so certain, but Nat’s doubts cast a cloud of insecurity over his confidence. What if she was right? What if it all went to hell? What if Steve realised that he wasn’t worth it? He suddenly felt sick. 

 

“Good,” Nat patted his hand. “Because you deserve a hell of a lot more.” She drained the rest of her coffee and stood up. “So, feel like walking me to the office?”    
  
***   
  
Almost as if he could sense that Bucky was spending most of his day thinking about him, Steve texted him around lunchtime. He wanted Bucky to meet him after work so they could hang out again. Bucky found himself grinning cheesily at his phone as he texted back his agreement. Steve replied almost immediately, texting the address of the school he worked at, and that Bucky should meet him there once he was done. Bucky was thrilled that he was going to get a chance to see Steve the teacher in action.   
  
***   
  
Sliding the door open quietly so as not to disturb anyone, Bucky looked in on the classroom. Nobody was sitting at the small tables and multicoloured chairs. Steve wasn't at the small desk at the front. Instead, the whole class, Steve included, were seated in a small carpeted area lined with low bookshelves. Twenty or so children were sitting cross-legged on the floor. Steve was in front of them on a large squashy red bean bag. Open on his lap was a hardcover book that was too far away for Bucky to catch the title.   
“Instead, they dig down to their super-best part,” Steve was saying as the children looked up at him with rapt attention. 

 

Bucky couldn't ignore how fucking sexy Steve looked. Wearing a dark sweater with his beard neatly trimmed and his hair perfectly styled, he looked every bit the superhero himself. 

 

“The strong super powers contained in their heart!” Steve continued, reading with expression. His smile was soft and gentle, the smile of someone who could make you feel secure and happy.    
  
Bucky leant against the doorframe, smiling with pride as he listened to the story. He didn't recognise it, but he found himself as into it as the children obviously were. There was something about Steve's calm voice, his cute expressions as he got into the emotions of the writer's words. It made you want to listen to him. Bucky could easily stand here and listen all day.   
  
After another few minutes, Steve closed the book. “Well that's all for today, guys and girls,” he said brightly with a grin. “So what did we just learn? If you're ever feeling sad or mad, just remember that it's okay. And know that you can always talk to someone about it.”   
  
“Can we talk to you?” one of the children asked after raising a tiny hand.    
  
“Of course you can, Andy.” Steve nodded as he slid the book back onto one of the shelves. “What's my superhero power, everybody?”   
  
“Listening!” the entire class chorused together.    
  
“That's right!” Steve replied enthusiastically. “Okay, friends, I think it's time we were all going home. You need your sleep for our next adventure tomorrow!” He looked up and made eye contact with Bucky. “But before you do, I'd like you all to say hello to my special friend Bucky!”   
  
“Hello, Mr Bucky,” the class chorused again. 

 

Having twenty small pairs of eyes suddenly focused on him was kind of weird, but he smiled and waved anyway.   
  


“Hey, kids,” he said nervously as they started getting to their feet and grabbing their backpacks from the back of their chairs. He stepped aside to let them herd out and into the schoolyard. 

 

Steve got up from the bean bag and made his way to his desk. 

 

“Sorry I was early, although also kinda not sorry,” Bucky continued.   
  
“Oh?”   
  
“That whole storytime thing. It's cute,” Bucky replied, hoping that he wasn't blushing. 

 

His eyes darted around the classroom to the brightly coloured walls, looking for something he could use to quickly change the subject. He spotted a large collage on the back wall. The children had drawn their faces on paper plates and they were attached to superhero bodies wearing different coloured costumes. Each face had a speech bubble coming from it that read 'My name is....and my superpower is....'

  
“Cool collage,” Bucky said as he pointed at it.   
  
“Oh, that?” Steve was putting some papers into his backpack. “Yeah, we were having a discussion about superheroes, and the class decided we should all have a superpower. So we turned it into an art project.” He grinned at Bucky. “So, I’m thinking takeout and a relaxing night in front of the TV? And it’d be great if we could go to your place. Sam and Scott are marathoning some tattoo programme again and I’d really like some peace and quiet,” he added suggestively. “Plus, I haven’t seen your apartment yet!”   
  
“Oh.” Bucky was wrongfooted. He hadn’t expected Steve to want to see his place any time soon, although, in hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming after all the questions on their first date. He tried to think of some excuse but nothing was forthcoming. “Sure”

  
“Great! So, lead the way,” Steve said with a smile as he shouldered his bag and motioned to the door.    
  
****   
  
It took about an hour to get back to Bucky’s building. With trembling hands, Bucky pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, allowing it to swing open slowly.   
  


“Home sweet home,” he said awkwardly as Steve stepped into the room.   
  
The first thing that struck Steve upon entering Bucky’s apartment was how bare it was. He was used to the cheerful clutter and chaos of his own home. That, and he’d grown up with a Ma who was practically a pack rat. 

 

Bucky’s apartment was small and sparse in comparison. There was a beaten up old blue couch in front of a small TV. Between them was an old pine coffee table that had definitely seen better days. That was it for the lounge area. 

 

To his left there was a small kitchen area, and then on the back wall, two doors. One presumably led to the bathroom and the other to a bedroom. There were no homey touches anywhere. No photos or posters or random knick knacks. The whole place seemed sad somehow, radiating an aura of loneliness.    
  
He turned around to look at Bucky who was hanging his leather jacket on a hook on the back of the door. He was looking at Steve almost apologetically. Steve opened his mouth to make a comment but he was stopped by a streak of black fur which hurled itself at him, hissing and spitting. 

  
“Zima! don’t be a douchebag,” Bucky ordered, picking up the furball from where it was currently trying to climb up Steve’s jeans to savage him. “So, you’ve met the cat.”    
  
“Feisty, isn’t he?” Steve joked, watching the cat squirm happily in Bucky’s arms as he tickled it behind the ears. 

  
“He’s a former street cat,” Bucky explained, as the cat leapt down from his arms and started to wind itself around his legs in a demand for more attention. “I found him in a nearby alleyway, and he’s been mine ever since.” He rolled his eyes. “You can have a seat you know,” he said, motioning to the couch. It was then that Steve saw three angry red lines on Bucky’s forearm.   
  
“Hey, you ok?” he asked with concern. They hadn’t been there the other evening.    
  
“Zima,” Bucky answered, coming back into the present. “He got into the garbage and I had to give him a bath. Consider these my war wounds,” he continued with a superficial smile. 

 

Steve raised his eyebrow for moment, looking unconvinced, but he didn't push it. 

 

Bucky pulled his sleeve down over the scars. 

 

“So, tell me more about your job,” he continued, quickly and deftly deflecting. He considered himself the king of that. “And whether that beard scares the shit out of the kids.”   
  
“I'll have you know they think it's cool,” Steve replied with a grin. Bucky seemed to want to move away from the subject, and Steve didn't want to upset him when they'd only just regained contact. “It's gotten me a lot of attention.”   
  
“Yeah, from police profilers,” Bucky shot back, quick as a wink. 

 

Steve's grin widened. That was the Bucky he'd known. His Bucky. Not whatever he was now. When Bucky met his eyes, his face alive in that sarcastic snarky glory, it was almost as if nothing had changed.   
  
An adamant  _ mew _ spoiled the moment. Steve looked down to see Zima standing by the couch, his tail swishing from side to side, his green eyes pleading.

  
“Yeah, alright, ya little asshole,” Bucky said as he hauled himself off the couch. “Sorry. The Master would like his food now.” He rolled his eyes expressively and wandered into the kitchen, Zima hot on his heels.   
  
“Hey, I was thinkin', you wanna go out for dinner instead of takeout?” Steve called as Bucky set about feeding the cat. “I know a great place.”   
  
“One of your bearded hipster places?” Bucky called back as Steve heard him opening the fridge.

  
“I'm not a hipster!” Steve protested as soon as Bucky returned to the couch.

 

Bucky grinned at him and shook his head.   
“If the vegan shoe fits,” he said with a shrug.   
  
“I'll boot you up the ass with it,” Steve replied quickly.    
  
“Kinky.” Bucky leant forward and grabbed his cell phone. “I don’t feel like going out tonight, but there’s a hell of a Chinese takeout place not far from here,”    
  
“Chinese sounds good,” Steve shrugged. 

 

Bucky rummaged between the couch cushions and produced a crumpled menu. 

 

Steve grinned at him and took the proffered leaflet, scanning it for choices.    
  
Bucky stared at Steve as much as he could get away with. He couldn’t help it. He was entranced by his former best friend-turned-boyfriend. He looked especially sexy when his brow furrowed like that, as he was trying to choose between Satay and Chow Mein. It was good to have Steve back in his life, but Bucky couldn’t help thinking back to how he and Brock had started out as well. 

 

**Twelve years ago...**

  
“You’re neater than most students,” Brock teased as Bucky led him into his apartment. 

 

He shared it with Peter, who was out for the evening with some girl he’d managed to pick up at the Retro Revival event last week. Peter’s absence meant that Bucky could take full advantage of having an empty apartment by inviting his new boyfriend over.    
  
Brock took his breath away. Not only was he good looking, but he was kind and caring too. He’d been so funny at the ice rink, cracking jokes and helping him try to stay on his feet on the ice.    
  
Now they’d enjoyed a nice meal at a local restaurant, Bucky’s student budget just about stretching to pay for the first round of drinks before Brock had insisted on taking care of the rest. They entered the apartment and flopped down on the squashy green couch Bucky and Peter had rescued from the sidewalk on their first week of college. Brock held out an arm and Bucky neatly tucked himself under his shoulder so that his head came to rest on Brock’s muscular chest. 

  
“So,” Brock said, beginning to play with a strand of Bucky’s hair. “Why don’t you tell me all about your classes?”   
  
They’d stayed up talking all night and learnt so much about each other. It had been one of those perfect nights that Bucky knew he was always going to remember. 

 

**Present day.**

 

But he didn’t want to think about Brock anymore, and how perfect he was. To distract himself, he snatched the menu from Steve, successfully engaging him in a mock wrestling match.   
  
When the sunlight seeped in through the crack in his curtains, Bucky found himself waking up in an empty bed. He reached out and touched the indentation Steve’s head had made on the pillow. The room still faintly smelled like his aftershave. He rolled onto his back and revelled in the scent for a moment, allowing himself a few precious seconds to remember the previous night and how amazing the sex had been.    
  
When he rolled back over to grab his phone, he noticed a piece of paper on his bedside table. He picked it up and smiled at the little picture of the Captain America shield that Steve had drawn on it. The paper was a note from Steve explaining that he’d left for work and hadn’t wanted to wake him. He’d added a large smiley face alongside the shield with a very hearty “Have a great day!” underneath it. 

 

Bucky couldn’t help thinking back to his mornings with Brock, and how they’d spent them curled around each other, either relishing the post-sex relaxation or just chatting about their days ahead.    
  
Of course, it had all changed, and Bucky’s thoughts turned bitter when he remembered how it had slowly gotten worse.

 

**Eleven years ago...**   
  
Bucky lay in bed, trying to decide what he wanted to do. He had a day off, so he could spend it either gaming or perhaps catching up on a few chores around the apartment. Either way, he was enjoying just lazing in bed after a week of early starts. 

  
His phone beeped next to him, and Bucky grinned as he lazily reached across to pluck it from the bedside table. It was probably from Brock. They’d gotten into the habit of texting each other almost nonstop while one or both of them were working. It was usually just some stupid joke, or arrangements for dinner, or silly little sentiments that made Bucky grin like an idiot. Sometimes, if Brock was on an earlier shift than him, he would leave Bucky little notes on the mirror so that he’d see then when he woke up and took his shower.    
  
Recently, however, the lovey-dovey texts were beginning to turn into something else. They were starting to be more about how Brock hated his job. How stressed he was feeling and how he didn’t want to be there. Bucky had tried to be understanding, texting back supportive messages and reassuring him that he didn’t have long left until the end of his shift, but that did little to stop the slew of negativity. 

 

**Present day.**   
  
Bucky’s hands were trembling as he put the note back on the bedside table. It would only be a matter of time until he started receiving those kinds of messages from Steve.   
  
***

  
“That’s great, Julia!” Steve said proudly, as Julia daubed some green paint onto her picture. It was art time in class so he’d donned his old grey college sweater that was already covered in splotches of paint, as well as a pair of his old jeans. He’d learnt the hard way that he needed to change before embarking on any artistic project with his students. Sam still brought up the time he’d clogged the washing machine with glitter and the fact that for weeks after, their clothes would come out covered in the stuff. 

  
“Steve?” Peggy slid into the room. Steve turned around to look at her. She looked serious and a little upset. He patted Julia on the shoulder and hurried over to his friend.    
  
“You okay, Peg?” he asked worriedly. He’d never seen the usually calm and collected Peggy look like this before. It was almost as if she was on the verge of tears. 

  
“Yes,” she replied, and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before addressing his class. “Okay, boys and girls, I’m going to need you to be extra specially good, okay? I need to talk to Mr. Rogers outside. Carry on with your painting, and if you need anything, we’re just outside the door where you can see us.”    
  
“Yes, Miss Carter,” the class chorused back. Peggy nodded and Steve followed her outside the classroom, closing the sliding door but leaving it open an inch or two just in case one of the kids needed him. 

  
“You need to go to the hospital, Steve,” Peggy said gravely, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’m afraid your mother has been in a road accident.”   
  
***   
  
“Fucking fuck!” Bucky cursed as he attempted to pull the stupid Winter Soldier shorts up over his hips. He could’ve sworn that they’d been a perfect fit just two days ago.    
  
_ Well, if you hadn’t eaten that takeout... _   
  
Bucky shook himself, attempting to shut up the voice in his head. He tried to be reasonable with himself, knowing that one takeout wasn’t going to make him gain so much so quickly. He gave the shorts another yank, growling with frustration when they stubbornly refused to budge an inch.    
  
His phone trilled from the pocket of his jeans. It was the ‘Macho Man’ ringtone he’d designated to his boyfriend. Forgetting the dumb shorts for a moment, he stepped out of them and went to retrieve his phone. He paled when he saw the contents of the text message.    
  
**Ma has been taken into hospital. Car accident. Will update when I can xxx**   
  
“Hey, Thor?” Bucky shouted across the changing rooms to the burly bodyguard that Pierce had hired to protect himself. Protect him from what, Bucky had never been sure, it wasn’t like there was a herd of people trying to take down the owner of a second-rate, sleazy strip club after all. Thor raised his head and looked at Bucky curiously. “Where’s Pierce tonight? I need to see him,”    
  
“Not wanting to talk to me?” Sitwell asked sleazily, appearing as if from nowhere. Bucky bit back the urge to say, ‘not if I can help it.’ Instead, he tried his best to look winsome and submissive. It was the sort of shit that Sitwell got off on. 

  
“I need to leave,” Bucky replied, as pleasantly as he could manage with several alarms going off in his brain screaming that Steve needed him. “Family emergency,”    
  
“I don’t think that’s going to be at all possible.” Sitwell was shaking his head. “You are, after all, our star performer,” He continued, saying the words ‘star performer’ as if it were something disgusting. Bucky had never quite worked out what Sitwell’s problem was, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to dwell on it now. 

  
“You wanted to talk to me, James?” Pierce was suddenly in the changing room. It was quite the anomaly to see him in there, wearing another perfectly pressed and highly expensive suit. 

  
“Yeah...I need to leave, family emergency,” Bucky repeated. He hated the way Pierce made him feel like a child in disgrace.    
  
“Then of course you must leave,” Pierce replied serenely, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. 

Even Sitwell gaped at him for a moment before Pierce winked at him. Bucky didn’t like that wink one bit, but beggars can’t be choosers, and he had to take what he was given. “But you owe me,” he added.    
  
Bucky nodded as he pulled his jeans back on. Whatever this favour he owed would be, it was for Later Bucky to deal with. Right now, his number one priority was getting to Steve and finding out what had happened to Sarah.    
  
***

  
By the time Bucky made it to the hospital and then to the right ward, Steve was nowhere to be seen. Sam was standing outside the private room where they’d admitted Sarah. He’d obviously come straight from the studio, as his arms and hands were spattered with ink. He was with an older woman in a suit who exuded a kind of old school pinup charm. Sam nodded at Bucky as he approached. 

  
“He’s speaking to her doctor,” he explained. “No idea how bad it is,”   
  
“Fuck,” Bucky cursed. “Is she still--” He left the question hanging in the air.    
  
“She’s still alive,” the older woman answered for him. She stuck out her hand and he shook it, thrown by the formality. “Peggy Carter,” she continued. “I’m the headmistress at Steve’s school.”   
  
Bucky was about to reply, but a nearby door opened and Steve came out, following by a man in blue scrubs. Steve took one look at Bucky and dissolved into fresh tears. Bucky instantly moved forward, pulling Steve into his arms, allowing his boyfriend to sob on his shoulder. 

  
“What’s the news?” Peggy asked, turning to the doctor. Steve was obviously in no position to answer. The doctor looked questioningly in Steve’s direction and Steve, anticipating the question, looked up long enough to nod.    
  
“She’s in a serious condition,” the doctor explained gravely. “It looks like there’s some swelling in the brain, so we’re going to keep her in a medically induced coma until we can get it under control. The next 48 hours are going to be crucial.”    
  
“It’s okay, Stevie,” Bucky said shakily, trying not to let his own panic spill over into his voice. He held Steve tighter, not wanting to imagine a world without Sarah Rogers in it as Steve sobbed into his shoulder.   
  
***   
  
With permission from the hospital, both Bucky and Sam opted to stay the night with Steve as he kept a vigil by Sarah’s bedside. They tag-teamed bringing him food and drink, wordlessly working together to make sure that he was as ok as he could be, given the circumstances.    
  
Sam had returned to the apartment to fetch some clothes and essentials for Steve, whilst Bucky had gone to the cafeteria in search of coffee. He was returning with two hot lattes when he heard Steve’s voice. Allowing his boyfriend some privacy, Bucky stayed outside the room, although he couldn’t help overhearing what was being said.    
  
“We’re all just waitin’ on you to wake up, Ma. It’s gonna be Christmas soon and it won’t be a proper Christmas without your hand-knitted sweaters.” Steve chuckled wetly. “And you’ll have an extra one to make this year! Bucky’s back in my life! Isn’t that great, Ma? I’m not gonna let him go this time, either. We’re together and we’re gonna keep it that way.” Bucky could hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he continued. “You need to help me plan a wedding,” he added softly. 

  
Bucky almost dropped the coffee. He didn’t know why, but he needed to get out of the hospital right now. He spun on his heel and half walked, half ran down the corridor, blindly trying to locate the nearest exit. He had his eyes on the prize when he collided with Sam who was carrying Steve’s gym bag, presumably the promised ‘care package’. 

  
“Hey, man, what’s going on?” Sam demanded as Bucky pressed the coffees into his hands and made for the exit.    
  
“I...I’m sorry...need to leave...I can’t be here...tell Stevie I’m sorry…” He gabbled as he hurried away, leaving behind a very baffled Sam.    
  
***   
  
Bucky couldn’t believe he’d run out on Steve like that. Hearing Steve talk as if they had a future laid out in front of them was just too much for him to think about. Hadn’t Brock spoken about the same things? Made everything sound like it was going to perfect and romantic, and life would be nothing but sunshine and roses? Why did Steve even want to marry him, anyway? He wasn’t a catch, not at all. For one thing, he was far too fat, and for another, he worked as a stripper at some sleazy club in the bad part of the city where good boys like Steve never went.    
  
There was only one way he knew to truly get out of his own head and ignore the multiple voices that called to him in varying tones of disgust. He headed straight for the nearest bar. Luckily, it was one he frequented often with Clint, just a couple of minutes walk from the hospital. It was the chosen hangout of most of the doctors and nurses who would have a tendency to get a little rowdy after one too many. It was perfect. Bucky didn’t want sedate drinks, with people talking in whispers like it was some kind of library. He needed noise, he needed chatter and activity to distract him from the fact that he was a total shit.    
  
So he made a beeline for the bar and as soon as he got inside, ordered himself a triple vodka with no ice. Guilt threatened to overtake him again as he thought about how earnest and hopeful Steve had sounded when he’d talked about the future, so he knocked back the drink as quickly as possible. God, he was an asshole. Sarah Rogers was lying in a coma, Steve was sitting by her bedside, worried out of his mind, and Bucky was here, getting bombed.    
  
All of that didn’t stop him from ordering another.    
  
****   
  
“You're cute as fuck. I ever tell you that?” Bucky slurred as he leant heavily on Clint. The two of them were making very slow progress to Bucky's apartment, impeded mostly by Bucky's desire to piss against every wall he came across on the route.

  
“Yeah you tell me every time you're wasted.” Clint replied dryly.   
  
“Well, you are. And I think you and me should have some fun.” Bucky giggled and stumbled. If Clint hadn't been holding him, he would've face-planted onto the pavement. “What do you say, big boy?”   
  
“Wow, does that line actually work?” Clint said as he steered Bucky in the right direction. He didn't want to show it, but he was concerned. The last time Bucky got this bombed was shortly after Brock had left him. For the month that followed, nine times out ten, Clint would come home to find Bucky sitting the hallway either sleeping or having lost his keys. Clint had started carrying around a spare to Bucky's apartment just in case. He sure as hell hoped this wasn't going to be a repeat of that time. For a start, Bucky had longer hair now, and Clint didn't really feel like he wanted to spend the rest of his night holding it back.   
  


“I can make you feel so good,” Bucky continued.   
  
“Why don't you make me feel good by picking up the pace a little bit? It's freezing out here.”   
  
“Oooh eager are we? I like it!” Bucky crowed. Without warning he pulled Clint into a hug and tried to give him a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Clint managed to dodge it, while simultaneously making sure Bucky stayed on his feet.

  
“Why can't you be one of those funny drunks or one of those ‘sits quietly and contemplates life’ drunks?” Clint bemoaned. Just his luck that Bucky was one of those 'I'm gonna suck your face off' drunks.   
  
When they eventually reached the apartment building, Bucky seemed to be convinced that he'd scored. Clint leant him against the wall while he fumbled in his pocket for the spare key.

  
“I don't normally do this on the first date,” Bucky giggled again as Clint unlocked the door.   
  
“Sure you don't.” 

 

Clint opened the door and guided Bucky into the apartment. Every time he came in, it pained him to see just how bare and unlived-in Bucky's place looked. He'd only seen it a couple of times, when Bucky was dating Brock, and back then it had looked like a regular apartment full of books, furniture, and DVDs. Now it looked horribly barren. It seemed like not only had Brock cleaned Bucky out emotionally, he'd cleaned out his apartment too.   
  
Clint manoeuvred Bucky over to the couch and sat him down. Zima trotted up to them. Bucky held out his arms as he swayed, and Zima leapt into them before settling on his lap.

  
“You love me, don't you Zima?” Bucky asked, petting the cat clumsily. 

 

Clint set about getting Bucky a glass of water. He was fully aware of the second stage of Barnes' drunken antics. Stage two came right before the passing out stage. It involved a lot of self hate on Bucky's part.

  
“People love you, man.” Clint replied as he put the glass of water on the coffee table, along with a couple of painkillers. He'd secretly pocketed the painkiller bottle just in case. It paid to not take risks when Bucky got drunk. “So, you wanna tell me why you're getting off your face, fall down, come onto me three hundred times drunk tonight?” he continued, taking a seat next to him on the couch. 

 

Zima hissed his distaste. He didn't like other people coming too near Bucky. But Clint wasn't going to sit on the floor because of some jealous lap cat.   
  
“Fucked up, real bad.” Bucky answered, marble-mouthed. He continued to stroke Zima, appeasing the small creature's annoyance. “Steve’s Mom got taken into hospital, and I just ran out on him cos I’m fucking scum.”

  
“You’re far from scum,” Clint said simply. He reached for the water. “Here, drink this.”   
  
“I fucked up,” Bucky continued, ignoring the glass. “I couldn't be what he wanted me to be so I fucked up and made him not love me any more.” He was starting to sound choked up. Clint had that sinking feeling. That same feeling you got when you’ve borrowed a friend's phone without asking and accidentally dropped it in the pool.

  
“Wait...wait, what are you talking about? What did he want you to be?” Clint asked, concerned. They’d been down this road before.    
  
“Should’ve stayed, should’ve supported him. Probably hates me.” Bucky was crying now.   
  
“Bucky. Listen to me. You did what you needed to do to protect yourself. Steve doesn’t hate you. I’m sure he loves you very much,” Clint said, concern ramping all the way up to worry. 

 

There was no way he'd be leaving Bucky alone tonight. He'd already seen the fresh cigarette burns on Bucky’s forearm when he'd helped him into his jacket. Clearly, between leaving the hospital and getting totally shit faced, Bucky had hidden in the toilets for some ‘relief’.   
  


“Can you go now?” Bucky asked.   
  
“Nope. No can do, buddy.” Clint replied. “Come on, drink some water. We're having a sleepover tonight.”

  
Bucky accepted the proffered glass this time and raised it to his mouth with shaking hands. He took a deep drink and handed it back to Clint.

  
“He needs me and I couldn’t be there.” Bucky sobbed. Zima leapt off his lap as Bucky put his head in his hands. Wordlessly, Clint pulled him in for a hug. He wanted to kill Rumlow right about now. Screw the Hippocratic Oath. “Why am I so fucking useless?”   
  
“C'mon, man.” Clint held onto Bucky tightly. “I'm here for you. Just cry it out. No judgements here.”   
  
Twenty minutes later, Bucky had cried himself out and fallen asleep, his head in Clint's lap. Clint was grateful that he'd left the apartment with a decent amount of charge on his phone, because he looked like he would be spending the next few hours trying to defeat the level of Candy Crush that he'd been stuck on for over a week. He took a couple of minutes to quickly check over Bucky's forearm, before settling himself into a more comfortable position. One hand slowly moved through Bucky's hair, the other swapped candy pieces.    
  
***   
  
“Here, man, drink this.” 

 

Sam proffered a cup of Steve’s favourite vanilla latte. After Bucky had cut and run, he’d stayed the night at the hospital with Steve. Once he’d realised that Bucky had disappeared, Steve hadn’t moved from the hospital chair, gripping his Ma’s hand and wearing that bewildered, hurt expression that Sam hated. He occasionally looked up, asking Sam if he was sure he didn’t know the reason behind Bucky’s sudden departure, and each time Sam had to shake his head sadly.    
  
“Thanks,” Steve said roughly, taking the cup. There had been no change in Sarah’s condition overnight, which, the doctor had said, was a good sign. It still didn’t change the fact that they needed to keep her in a coma. “I don’t get it,” Steve added, after taking a sip and sighing at his Ma. “He didn’t say anything about where he was going?”    
  
“Not to me,” Sam shrugged, high-key hating Barnes right now.    
  
“I can’t believe he just deserted me,” Steve replied, sounding cut to the quick. “You know it’s not the first time? I told you about what happened when we were kids?”    
  
“When he moved away?” Sam queried. He wondered how easy it would be to track Barnes down and give him a good talking to. 

  
“Yeah.” Steve nodded, sipping his coffee again. “I hoped that even though his father had moved him away without telling him, he’d still find a way to stay in contact. But I never heard from him again.” 

 

**Fifteen years ago...**

  
“Hey, Ma,” Steve greeted as he entered the apartment. 

 

Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table, working out the week’s budget. There was a stack of unopened mail beside her. Steve felt a bubble of excitement in his stomach. Maybe today was going to be the day. He looked at her hopefully.   
  
“I’m sorry, Honey, it’s just bills,” she replied gently. 

 

Steve nodded, trying not the let the hurt show as he shuffled out of the kitchen. He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, dumping his backpack on the floor outside his bedroom door. This weird new routine, that didn’t involve Bucky, meant that the first thing he did once he got into his room after school was check his emails. He and Bucky hadn’t been using the internet for long but he still hoped that somehow Bucky had been able to send him a message. He didn’t even know if his best friend had made it to his new home safely.    
  
The move had been weeks ago, and there was still nothing. No phone calls, no text messages, no mail. Nothing. Steve couldn’t help but feel betrayed and deserted. Why hadn’t Bucky sent him a message? Was he just not trying hard enough? 

 

**Present day.**   
  
“There’s got to be reason,” Steve said, ignoring Sam’s pitying expression. “He can’t have just walked out on me.”    
  
“I gotta admire your faith, man, but to be honest I think it’s best you concentrate on you right now,” Sam suggested gently. 

 

He didn’t want to say that it was probably best that Bucky had walked out now instead of further down the line, but he could certainly think it.    
  
*****   
  
Steve, being Steve, couldn’t let the situation lie. He needed to know what was going on and, since Bucky was ignoring his text messages, it required going to his boyfriend’s apartment to get some answers. 

 

Bucky wasn’t as safety conscious as he could be. Whenever he was at home he had a tendency to leave the door unlocked. Steve still hadn’t brought that up but, right now, he was actually glad at Bucky’s lack of awareness of his surroundings. 

 

He knocked a couple of times and, when he received no answer, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He entered the apartment gingerly, aware of the wrath of Zima. The cat, however, was nowhere to be seen. Either that or it was lying in wait, ready to jump out on him when he least expected it. Bucky would argue against it, but Steve swore that cat was evil. Or perhaps it just hated him. 

 

He was suddenly distracted from the thoughts of cats being evil incarnate when he heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. He immediately made a beeline for the small room, frowning with concern when he found Bucky crouched over the toilet.

“Buck?” 

 

“God,” Bucky replied hoarsely. “Go away Stevie,” 

 

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asked, suddenly feeling relieved despite his worry. Of course this was the reason why Bucky had left! He was obviously not well. 

 

Steve felt a stab of guilt at having assumed that Bucky had abandoned him again. Ignoring Bucky’s glare, Steve stepped into the bathroom and started to rub his boyfriend’s back in small circles. 

 

“Get off!” Bucky demanded, trying to pull away. Steve ignored him and placed the back of his hand on Bucky’s forehead, trying to detect a fever. He was already in mother hen mode, planning on making Bucky a duvet nest on the couch while he went to the pharmacy for some supplies. He could ask Sam’s mom for some of her famous chicken soup, and maybe Sam wouldn’t mind staying with his Ma at the hospital while he took care of Bucky.

 

“Do you think it’s something you ate, Buck?” Steve asked with concern. “How many times have you been sick? Have you had any other symptoms?” He started rattling off question after question with deep concern. “Were you sick last night too? Have you been getting enough fluids?” 

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve!” Bucky suddenly pushed Steve away with all his might. It wasn’t easy crouched on the bathroom floor on his knees, but he managed to use enough force to send Steve into the doorframe. “I’m doing this! I want to! Now just go away like I fucking asked!” 

 

“Wait...what?” Steve wasn’t sure which stung more, his back from the door frame or Bucky’s words. “You mean, you’re being sick...on purpose?” he continued, barely able to say the words as the full force of what Bucky had just said dawned on him. 

 

Things suddenly clicked into place: Bucky’s finicky ways with food, the way he’d shoved half of his meal onto his plate on their date. The way he always seemed to have eaten a big meal earlier. 

 

Steve was beginning to feel sick, sick and angry. “What the fuck are you doing to your body, Buck?” Steve clamped his arms across his chest as he stared down at him.    
  
“What the fuck do you care?” Bucky countered from the bathroom floor. “Did I ask you come here tonight? No. I fucking didn't. So why don't you get the hell out of my fucking apartment!” He was trying his best to shout but his voice sounded strained, hoarse. 

 

Steve wanted to cry. “And leave you to do this?” Steve pointed to the toilet bowl accusingly, which Bucky had yet to flush to remove the evidence.

  
“It's my fucking body, Steve. I'll do whatever I damn well please. Now you better leave, or else I'm gonna be callin' the cops.” Bucky threatened. 

 

He was starting to panic. He needed to get Steve out of here so he could continue. He only had a small window in which to rid himself of the food that he could feel clinging to his stomach. A small window that was quickly closing all because of Steve. He glared at him, suddenly hating him. 

 

This didn't seem to sway Steve, who stood over him. 

 

Bucky growled in frustration. “I mean it, Steve! Get the fuck out!” he yelled, ignoring how much it strained his sore throat.   
  
Steve, sensing he was going about this the wrong way and getting absolutely nowhere fast, held up his hands defensively.

  
“Bucky, Bucky, look. Calm down ok? Why don't you get up and we'll go sit on the couch and talk about this? I'll make you some tea and--”   
  
“I don't want any fucking tea! GET OUT! GET OUT!” Bucky started to shout it, again and again, throwing all his frustration onto Steve. 

 

Steve took a step back. He'd never seen Bucky this way before, wild-eyed and almost hysterical. Bucky’s eyes blazed with anger as he alternated between cursing and telling him to get out of his apartment. This was going wrong. So very wrong.   
  
Suddenly, the front door burst open and Clint came barrelling in. He was obviously either just getting home or hadn't been home long, as he was still wearing his scrubs and had his hospital ID clipped to his hip. Ignoring Bucky, who was still shouting, he focused his attention on Steve.

  
“Come on, man. I heard the shouting from the hallway. Come with me,” he said, gentle and coaxing, in a tone Steve remembered hearing from his Ma. He allowed himself to tugged in the direction of the front door. Bucky, meanwhile, was now leaning against the bathroom door, breathing heavily, his eyes closed.   
  
As soon as the front door closed, Steve heard the sounds of retching.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more! Look out for GYHAB : Summer! coming soon.


End file.
